


The Healing

by BetweenScenes



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Love, Marriage, Oral Sex, Overcoming Fear, Second marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-11 08:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetweenScenes/pseuds/BetweenScenes
Summary: We just want to see Drake & Morwenna happy!  This work "fills in the blanks" between the Angry Tide and The Stranger from the Sea from the Winston Graham book series.Portions correspond to the Poldark books and television series.  Finale in the US next week!  Possible spoilers for Season 4.





	1. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long-awaited day. . .

> _“There’s more to life than carnal love, isn’t there?’_

_“Yes . . .oh, yes, but---“_

_“Be honest.  Do you not really want to be with me?  With me more than anyone else in the world?”_

_She hesitated a long moment, then nodded again. “But—“_

_“Then be that not the most important thing of all?  Being together.  Working together.  Talking together.  Walking together.  There’s so **much** to love—even if it be not the love you mean.  The sunrise, and the rain and the wind and the cloud, and the roaring of the sea and the cry of the birds and the – lowing of cows and the glow of corn and the smells of spring.  And food and fresh water.  New-laid eggs, warm milk, fresh-dug potatoes, home-made jams.  Wood smoke, a baby robin, bluebells, a warm fire. . .I could go on and on and on.  But if you enjoy them wi’ the one you love, then it is enjoyment **fourfold**! D’you think I would not give all my life to see ye sitting there smiling in that chair?  What is life if you live it alone?”_

_“Oh, Drake,” she said, tears suddenly running down her face and over the hand across her mouth and on to the other hand.  They splashed on to her frock where it was already wet with the rain.  “Oh, dear—I was—I was—afraid of this. . .”_

_“Ye cann’t be afraid of having what you most want in life.”_

_“No . . . afraid of my own weakness.  Afraid I should never convince you.  I love you, of course.  I have said it so often to myself in the night.  Often it has been like an anthem—giving me strength.  But that doesn’t mean I am a whole woman any longer.  Drake, I am—damaged—and crippled . . .inside . . .in my **mind**!”_

_“There now,” Drake said.  “See, I’m not going to come nigh you, not even to wipe your tears.”_

_\---The Angry Tide, Book Three, Chapter Ten_

      As Drake struggled to tie his cravat, he eyed himself in the mirror.  He was 23.  It had been six years since he first saw the dark haired girl in the woods, and today she was to become his wife.  He had waited for her, and after today, he and Morwenna need never part again.

     She didn't desire him, though that was no affront to him. She had very clearly said that her relations and relationship with Ossie had tainted her, had ruined her.  

      Drake's brow darkened at the thought. What _could_ the man have done? He _was_ a buffoon, egotistical and smarmy.  But it must have been more than that.  For what had Morwenna said? That she felt _contaminated_ by him? 

     Though Drake had never actually experienced it, he imagined the act of love to have a level of indignity to it. He blushed, straightening the lapels of his jacket.  He had seen enough of farm animals to know that a certain awkwardness existed. Perchance with Ossie so big and Morwenna so small. . .

     Drake's stomach turned at a sudden remembrance. Morwenna had said that after Osborne was unfaithful he had forced himself on her repeatedly.  After he died, she said, she felt as if the mere thought of the contact between flesh and flesh would turn her sick and demented. 

     Anger burned in Drake. He almost wished Osborne Wentworth alive again, just so he could murder him. And then he stopped himself.  God would not want these thoughts to overtake his mind.  He need not focus on the hatred anymore.  The man was gone.  Now Drake needed to focus all his energy on loving Morwenna.  On loving her well, no matter what the future held.   

***

     Morwenna had always been considered a tall girl. On her wedding day, though, she seemed petite, as if she was shrinking into herself, standing next to lanky Drake, with the vaulted ceilings of the Sawle chapel over their heads. Their friends filled the first few rows, no more.  The second marriage of a young widow whose husband had died under suspicious circumstances, to a young man of questionable parentage and upbringing from Illugan ( _who_ , gossips would say,  _don't forget, practically abandoned Rosina at the altar_ ) didn’t draw the best families of Truro.   

     There was no one to represent the Chynoweths. Notably absent were Rowella and Elizabeth, and after her recent jilting Rosina was **_understandably_** absent.  But those who mattered to them were there.  Sam and their good mate Peter Hoskin.  Ross and Demelza, with Caroline sitting next to Demelza. Jeremy  & Clowance were there, with Mrs. Kemp to look after them.  A few of the fishing and mining families who had come to respect Drake for his kindness and quality work.

     Sam sat next to the aisle, looking at his brother with a furrowed brow. To desert Rosina so close to their planned marriage? It seemed cruel; beyond the kindhearted Drake to disappoint such a sweet, hardworking girl. Sam turned his eyes to Morwenna. She was pretty enough. Her nearsightedness sometimes made her cross-eyed, like their old orange cat in Illugan. Sam smiled at the thought, then caught himself.  Morwenna seemed so subdued, so somber. One would think this was a family funeral, not a wedding. 

     One of the village babies began to wail, and the mother deftly moved her shawl over one shoulder to make quick work of meeting her daughter’s immediate need.  Morwenna had heard the wail, and turning to the sound saw the bearded village father bending to make eye contact with his baby daughter now suckling at her mother's breast. 

     Morwenna cringed, despite the look of smiling adoration on the father’s face. It reminded her of Osborne, of baby John Conan. She had hated the father; while she had been afraid that those feelings would taint her emotions towards the baby, she was indifferent to John Conan. Another male of the species, the pudgy babe made constant demands on her body. The indignity of breast feeding was compounded by Ossie, who leered at her whenever she was even partly exposed.  One reason she didn’t as much mind feeding baby John was that it gave her an excuse to avoid sleeping with Ossie, and therefore evade his constant demand for intercourse. Ossie couldn't stand being awoken by John Conan’s cries in the night, so Morwenna had retreated to the nursery, sleeping on a pallet on the floor by his bed. And with Rowella in the home, there had been sweet respite from Ossie’s constant lechery. 

     However, just the thought of Ossie and Rowella sent a sudden chill through Morwenna.

     Drake looked down at the girl on his arm as she shuddered. Where was her mind running off to today? Though Morwenna seemed to be present with him more and more, at times there was a haunted emptiness in her eyes.  When she was a shell, he had learned to give her space.  Drake knew she needed him, and she’d said she loved him.  She had made it clear that she did not _desire_ him.  But he knew himself devoted to Morwenna; he could never love another.  He would love enough for both of them. 

     Standing here, with her next to him, Drake was beyond himself with joy.  He almost couldn’t believe it had happened.  If he had given up during that rescue. . . He pushed back thoughts of the one moment of despair he’d had; when he’d stood on the castle wall to draw the fire of the French prison guards.  He told Ross to go on without him, but his brother-in-law had ignored his depression talking, and he had kept him alive.  Alive, to come back here.  If he had not. . .  Drake felt a chill come over him.  No, today was their wedding day.  He would not spoil it with thoughts of the past.

     The Reverend was looking at him expectantly.  Ah, yes.  Drake reached inside the pocket of his jacket and drew out a folded white rectangle, nervously smoothed out the wrinkled paper against his hip and cleared his throat. 

     "Now, ye know I be not a poet or a man of letters," he said, looking out at the small audience. "But this woman, who I have long loved. . ." He looked at Morwenna, whose cheeks colored as she stared at her shoes, "has agreed to marry me, and I find myself inspired. So if ye will but humor me, I have a few lines to share."

     He cleared his throat, glancing up with a smile at Morwenna as he began. 

 _"Love is not small; not just husband and wife,_  
_Love comes from the joys that we share in this life._  
_Sunrise and rain; the wind and the cloud._  
_The calling of birds and the sea roaring loud._  
_The lowing of cows, the glow of gold corn_  
_The smell of green spring, a lamb newly born."_

     Drake glanced up at Morwenna.  A tiny smile played about her lips. These words were familiar, hearkening back to the conversation where he convinced her to marry him.  Drake himself smiled, then returned to his reading. 

 _"Fresh-dug potatoes and creamy warm milk,_  
_A fluffy young robin, and bluebells like silk._  
_Jars of red jam, wood smoke, a warm fire._  
_Simple things satisfy, there’s naught left to desire."_

      The last lines of the poem seemed to have particularly etched themselves into Drake's mind, for he didn't break his gaze at his bride until he finished. 

 _"Experience shared is love, multiplied._  
_There's fulfillment fourfold with you at my side._  
_I long asked a question: what is life, lived alone?  
_ _Today, my darling, my heart finds its home."_

     "Awww," Demelza cooed audibly at the sweetness, shocking herself. At the same instant Caroline and Ross each placed a hand on her arms, as if to say  _Don't spoil the moment!_

     As Drake stood silent, his poem complete, Morwenna's gray eyes raised to meet his.  Tears glistening on her eyelashes, and Reverend Odgers opened the book of prayer. 

***

     Ross and Demelza hosted the wedding luncheon at Nampara. Though few of the miners and their families had made it to the chapel for the wedding, the marriage celebration was another story. The promise of abundant food and spirits tempted even the most judgmental, and Nampara was bursting at the seams. Tables overflowed with pies and tarts, scones and bread, cheese and meat.

     Pink-cheeked Clowance, an impish five year old, amused herself by grabbing a handful of whatever was closest and retreating under the table to watch and listen undisturbed. Jane Gimlett’s granddaughter was of a similar age, and ducked under the same table, providing Clowance with giggly company, the straight brunette hair contrasting with Clowance's golden curls.

     “How fares your business, Drake?” Ross asked, approaching the young man where he stood by a well-laden table.

     “Well enough, Cap’n Ross,” Drake said.  “I still have ye to thank for all I have.”

     “Nonsense,” was Ross’s response.  “You could not have grown such a business if you were not a hard worker and well liked in the village.  In that respect you very much resemble your sister.”

     Ross looked across the room at Demelza, her hair swept up, a few curls escaping around her face, laughing as she visited with Morwenna and the young village women.  Drake followed his gaze, and the two men slipped into silence, looking at the curious creatures they loved. 

    Morwenna appeared to be enjoying herself too, a shy smile on her face as the more gregarious Demelza regaled the women with some tale having to do with her most recent market day and an unfortunate purchase of fish that were anything but fresh.

    “Uncle Drake?” Drake looked down to see his young nephew at his elbow.  “Why do you wish to be married?  I think girls are boring.”

    “You’ll understand when you’re older,” Drake responded, smiling.  “But I marry Morwenna because I love her.”

    “Like Papa loves Mama?” asked Jeremy.

    “Yes,” Drake responded, ruffling the young man’s hair with a smile.  As Jeremy strolled away, satisfied, Drake said under his breath, “ _But maybe_ _even more_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of Drake and Morwenna's story is left untold because of the 11 year gap in time between The Angry Tide and The Stranger From the Sea. I loved Drake & Morwenna, but after reading the books, I was left unsatisfied with the untold story, and assume others may feel the same! This work is based on the books by Winston Graham, so this may not completely match the television canon. 
> 
> This story began as just a few pages and has become something more, though it is still a work in progress. I have been making some changes as I view the television series. Feel free to make a suggestion for additional chapters, or to point out any errors.


	2. The Night

     After the celebration, the revelers followed the Cornwall tradition of walking the newlyweds to their home.  Drake and Morwenna led the procession arm in arm; the former beaming joyfully, the latter looking anything but pleased to be the center of attention.  The last light of the day shone over the rolling hillsides as they approached Drake’s forge and home. 

     Though it was quite clear the crowd would be happy to stick around and heckle the new couple on their wedding night, Sam, Demelza, and Ross made quick work of shooing the stragglers away.

     When the chatter of voices and echoes of laughter had faded into the distance and the two were on their own, Morwenna seemed especially agitated. She fluttered about the house, straightening pictures on the shelves and cups on the kitchen counters, re-folding towels, smoothing the curtains.

     Finally Drake could contain himself no longer. He stepped towards his wife and put his hand on her arm.  "You know, Wenna," he said.

      He stopped short at the look of terror in her eyes and her sudden movement away from him. "What have I said?” he exclaimed in concern.  “Morwenna, what have I said?"

     "That was his name for me," she said, a look on her face of painful remembrance. "When he was about to. . .when he wanted to. . ."

      Drake's eyes moistened and he spoke over the lump in his throat. "If that is so, then I will never call you that again."

     He gazed at his wife in silence for a moment, searching for the right words. "Morwenna, I can tell that this night you are concerned. Remember, our marriage is for the world to give us permission to be together always, not for me to claim anything but your companionship. I can but tell ye again that my intentions toward ye are pure. I will never take anything from ye that is not offered freely and fully openheartedly to me. If that means we live as brother and sister until we die, I will be a happy man."

     Morwenna's nearsighted eyes filled with tears as well. "I'm sorry, Drake. These scars are so deep. I fear that they are wounding you as well."

     Drake continued, with a smile: "Ah, I am thick-skinned and strong.  Don’t worry.  I wish you to heal. Can ye please tell me, jes' once, what was done in the past, and I will do none of the kind? I will even do the opposite."

     Morwenna hesitated, a pinched look of pain on her face.  She shook her head hopelessly. "I am forever broken, Drake. I cannot be healed."

     "You will not even try the suggestions of a new physician?" Drake joked. "Before you are assured his methods will fail?"

     Morwenna's lips crinkled into a faint smile. "No, Doctor Drake, you are right. I shall try."

     "Then, my patient," said Drake, sitting down on the settee by the fire and motioning to the chair at the other side. "Tell me a story about a girl from long ago. Her wedding night, what was done? How did she feel?"

     Morwenna stared at her hands, holding them out so she could see the simple golden band on her left hand. It took her several false starts before she spoke quietly. "No one had ever told the girl about the responsibilities of marriage.  She knew nothing.  And she was undressed against her will in full light, stared at with lust, and then she was taken by force by a man she did not love, who did not love her.  "

     Drake leaned forward with furrowed brow, then arose with a smile. "The opposite," he said, with determination, “Fear not, friend," and left the room.

     He returned with one of the blankets from the cupboard, and stepped close enough to her just to lower the blanket over her, covering her from her shoulders to her feet. She smiled slightly, realizing his intent. Then he returned to his seat, blowing out two candles on the way, leaving their faces lit just by the glow of the gently flickering fire. Morwenna stared into the flames, and Drake began to talk.

     “My earliest memory is of swimming in the ocean.  The day was cloudy and the seas were rough.  Sam and I thought we were big enough to go out to the breakers.  We were following our big brothers, but they were taller than us.  We wore our clothes.  That were one sure way to get them clean.

     “Us never did go to the sea, but that day for some reason, our father was off his liquor enough that he took us.  He was on the shore.  I don’t know if ‘e saw me lose my footing, but Sam were in front of me, and he didn’t notice. 

     “I thought that were it as I went under.  Wi’ father too far away or not noticin’ me; with Sam’s back to me and the others so far ahead…Father didn’t yet know God, but I prayed, what little I knew.  Happen I said ‘Save me,’ or some such.”  Drake shuddered as if feeling the waves close over his head.

     “And then, there was a hand.” At this, Drake’s countenance lifted.  “Demelza pulled me out of the water.”  A single grunt of laughter accompanied that statement.  “By my hair, she did.  Hurt like the dickens.  But I was alive.”

     Hearing a little snippet of laughter, Drake smiled, his eyes quickly darting to Morwenna and then back down at his hands in the firelight.  He gripped the gold circle on his own left hand and twisted it.

     “Oh, we were rascals, that’s for certain.”  Shaking his head ruefully, Drake chuckled.  “It’s a wonder I made it to manhood!”  A small giggle from the other side of the fire brought a smile to his face.

Drake continued telling stories, expecting no response. He told her about the steps he'd first taken when he gained the property and forge. And he began to reminisce and tell the story of a young man, a precocious boy, and a girl.

     She began to nod off. He knew the danger of surprising her, of seeming to touch her with any intent. He wanted to lift her, to carry her up to bed. To just lay next to her with his arms around her. To let her feel safe in his embrace. But he knew she was not ready. "Morwenna," he said. "You are weary. Get ye up to yer bed, Sweet One."

     Her grateful smile as she pulled herself from the chair and headed up to her bedroom, alone, was a reward, as was her quiet, "Thanks to you, Doctor Drake. This second wedding night was far to be preferred to the first."

     Drake watched her as she headed up the stairs.  When she disappeared from view and he heard the bedroom door click shut, he glanced around their small living area.  Then he stood and walked around the room, his hand gliding over surfaces.  The small collection of books next to his Bible on the shelf; her shawl, hanging from a peg by the front door; the vase full of bright wildflowers; the freshly washed and starched white tablecloth.  When he blew out the candles, it was as much a sigh as anything else.  Then he retreated to his room, with one last smiling glance up the dark stairway.

     Drake's heart was full that night even if his arms were empty. But in his bed he did shed a tear for the sweet girl who had deserved better to begin with.


	3. Sweet One

     Sweet One.  Drake's pet name for Morwenna from their wedding night stuck. She had been Morwenna Chynoweth, sold into an arranged match by a cousin of the same last name.  And then she'd been Morwenna Whitworth.  **_That_** name she despised.  Even her given name, Morwenna, had betrayed her. A name spoken too manipulatively by Ossie; His wheedling “Wenna,” when he desired to bed her, was like a curse word to her.  Her name had been sullied.  And it even sounded too much like her sister's name—Rowella, a word had come to signify wantonness and a lack of self control.  A name that was the source of pain, and cause of deliverance, too.

     "Morwenna Carne" surely had a different ring, but she was not unhappy to give every part of her past up. “Sweet One” did not trigger terror for her.  It simply reminded her of a good and peaceful day when her new husband had compassionately sent her up to bed alone. 

     Of course, Drake's Cornish drawl turned "Sweet One" into "Sweet Wen," so she hadn't lost herself entirely. He always looked at her with a wide smile, but sometimes there was a hint of something in his eyes: of a wondering, a hoping. She knew he adored her—she felt sorry she could not love him back in the same way. 

     Whenever Drake saw that familiar fearful look on her face, he would ask Morwenna to share her triggering story with him. She came to trust his requests.  Morwenna could tell from the intent way he listened that every detail mattered.

     And each time she confided in him, Drake would attempt his best to alleviate the trigger; to create the opposite scenario. There was the Sunday when Morwenna was ill and Drake found her pulling on her boots in tears.  He left her tucked in bed at home with tea, a book and her needlepoint.  He did not force her to go to church to keep up appearances as Osborne had.

     Where Osborne had been haughty and unforgiving and demanding, Drake was compassionate and humble and kind.  There were words Drake learned not to say, and things he would no longer do, just for Morwenna's peace. 

     At the same time, Morwenna seemed to be taking pleasure in the simple tasks of her new life: drawing water from the well to do the dishes; scrubbing the linens on the washing board out in the courtyard, her hair falling in front of her eyes only to be swept back with a sudsy hand. At times Drake would hear her humming a tune under her breath as she worked. 

     Color returned to Morwenna's cheeks and a spark to her eyes, which more often than they had in years crinkled up at the edges when she smiled. Her cheeks began to fill out, and she even had to sew herself new dresses to fit her more pronounced curves. Perhaps she had avoided eating for all those years, hoping that somehow she wouldn't attract Ossie's attention. 

     And slowly, subtly, she began to reach out to Drake, who was ever patient and waiting for her lead. One night as Drake practiced his reading with her, she sat close to him on the settee, letting their knees gently touch. He acted as if he didn't notice, though the touch electrified his skin. A few days later at supper time, she lightly rested her hand on his shoulder as she placed a steaming bowl of rabbit stew in front of him. When she did it again the next night, he covered her fingers with his own as he thanked her, and was stunned when Morwenna didn't immediately withdraw her hand.

     There were moments when touch was a necessity, when Drake helped her up onto the horse in front of him, and Morwenna leaned back against his chest, her rib cage expanding and contracting with each breath, or when she rode behind him and her arms clung around his waist for support.  He would reach for her hand to help her cross the stile as they walked each evening, or to help her maneuver the rocky pathway down to the beach. And occasionally she began to grasp his hand as they walked together, a comfortable, companionable touch. 

     Slowly it became their habit to share an embrace before bed.  Sometimes Drake dared to press a kiss onto Morwenna’s forehead.  And nightly after he dismissed Morwenna upstairs to her bedroom, Drake would kneel by his bed and pray for strength.  As Morwenna came back to life with each passing day, her face and form were more beautiful to him than they had ever been. And as he loved her more and more, his desire for her grew.

     Drake was willing to lead a celibate life for his wife’s sake, but he longed to know her fully, to share himself with her in a way he had with no other woman.


	4. Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in cooking, and a gift. . .

     The pot on the stove bubbled, sputtering as Morwenna scraped in the diced vegetables from the cutting board. She stepped back, taking a moment to twist her chestnut hair into a sloppy knot at her neck, then stood in front of the stove, looking down at the fish stew she was preparing for Drake’s luncheon. 

     "Is there else you need from the garden?" Drake asked. It was always a fine line, treading into the kitchen of a novice cook. 

     "What would you add?" she asked, continuing to look at the steaming pot, her forehead wrinkling. 

     “'Twill be good as it is," he reassured. He was always so earnestly sweet, aiming never to offend; so much so that at times Morwenna would pick fights just to see Drake's face flare pink.  However, she did love the look of boyish insecurity Drake would still get on his face, even though now he was a man.  It reminded her so much of him those years ago when they first met. He stepped up next to her, gazing down at the bubbling stew. "Mayhaps some fennel or leeks?" Drake suggested, with a little shrug.

     "Leeks!"  she exclaimed, shaking her head. "I forgot the savory vegetables again! Quickly fetch me some from the garden. Do we yet have garlic as well?" 

     Drake paused by the clay pot where they stored their garlic and onions, choosing two cloves that looked less withered to hand to Morwenna, then striding out to the garden to select one of the long green stalks from the row of leeks. He made quick work of trimming off the roots and pulling off the stiff outer leaves, then sliced the leek into the pot as Morwenna finished mincing the garlic. 

     She smiled up at him gratefully once they'd left the stew to finish simmering. "It isn't my best skill," she lamented. "I never was taught the finer points of cookery."  

     "Sweet One," said Drake affectionately.  "You could feed me rocks and I would still be grateful."

     Gesturing sadly towards two flat and misshapen loaves of bread on the sideboard, Morwenna sighed mournfully. "You may get your wish," she said, picking up one loaf. When she dropped it back on the breadboard, it landed with a solid thud. 

     The corners of Drake's mouth twitched. He coughed into his fist, but it could not be avoided. He chuckled; then he laughed outright. 

     Morwenna looked up at him, for just a moment offended. But then her face broke into a smile, followed by a giggle like a bubbling stream. 

     In moments, they were so overtaken with laughter that tears were streaming down their faces. The Trewinnard twin who had been washing up to join them, stepped into the open doorway, wondering at the sound.

     “Ah, we’re just laughin’ about rocks,” said Drake, setting off another peal of giggles from Morwenna.

                                                                                  ****** 

     “I would have her laugh,” Drake said to his young helper as they worked in the forge that afternoon. 

     “She were laughing today, Mr. Carne,” the Trewennard twin said, working the bellows as Drake turned a piece of iron over the fire with tongs.

     “Yes, but she used to laugh more,” Drake responded. 

     “She been mighty sad a long time, eh?” asked the boy, a look of compassion on his face.  “Iffen ‘ee don’t mind me askin’, sir, what made her laugh afore?”

     Drake stared off into the distance, his mind obviously far away, a smile playing about his lips.  He didn’t answer the question.

     “Well, cats is funny,” the Trewennard twin offered.  “My sister has ‘un, and loves to play wi’ it." Suddenly his lean face brightened. "Why, Mr. Carne, we got a batch of kittens, too, iffen ‘ee would like one.”

 

     Later that evening, Drake came into the house carrying a basket.  Morwenna was bustling about the kitchen with final supper preparations and didn’t notice him at first.

     “I brought ‘ee a gift.”  Drake held out the basket towards her. 

     “Really?”  Morwenna flushed, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped forward to take the basket from him.  She set it on the table and unhooked the fastener, curiously wrinkling her brow as she lifted the lid and looked inside.  When she had seen the contents, she stepped back.

     “It’s a cat,” she said, with pursed lips.

     “It’s a kitten!” exclaimed Drake, stepping forward.  He reached into the basket and drew out a fluffy, mewing handful of gray fur.

     “It’s for **_me_**?” Morwenna asked skeptically.  Clutching the kitten to his chest, Drake looked at Morwenna uncomfortably, confused at her reaction.

     “Yes,” he explained.  “For company.  For something to be by you durin’ the day.”

     “Something to make more mess, to shed fur on the floors and furniture.  Another mouth to feed.”  Morwenna shook her head.  “What do cats eat?”

     “Leavin’s from fish we eat,” Drake offered.  “Some cream.  ‘E won’t eat much right now.  He’s just a mite.”  Then realizing he was getting nowhere, Drake concluded tentatively, “Well, I can take him back to the Trewennard’s, but ‘tis late.  Let us eat and I’ll give ‘im back in the morrow.  I’ll make ‘im a bed to sleep in for the night.”

     As Morwenna finished setting the table, Drake took a small box and filled it with fabric scraps.  He stepped out to the barn and returned with a brimming bucket of milk, from which he skimmed the top cream and placed it in a saucer.

     Drake and Morwenna sat down to their supper as the little gray kitten lapped up the white froth with a tiny pink tongue.  Drake noticed Morwenna steal a few sidelong glances at the little creature, and he was almost certain he saw a small smile.

 

     After Drake helped wash up the supper dishes, he laid out his forge paperwork on the table, sharpening his quill before carefully adding up the sums and listing the current projects he had waiting to be completed.  Morwenna pulled her chair up to the fire, putting her feet on the gray stone hearth as she read by the light of the fire and one sputtering candle.

     Meanwhile the ball of fluff wandered the house, poking his little pink nose into every corner, sniffing curiously at a crumb left from supper, and finding his way back to the dish of cream for another installment of supper.

     After a time, Morwenna shifted in her chair, enough movement to catch Drake’s attention.  He watched silently, his wife seemingly forgetting the book she was reading to watch the maneuvers of the kitten.  He climbed up into the bed Drake had made and tumbled back out, then trotted around the room, squeezing his fat body behind the wash basin, batting at a ball of lint in the corner and pouncing on it when it moved, then darting away, startled, only to run into the broom that leaned against the wall.

     A faint giggle emanated from the chair by the fire, and Drake turned back to his work with a satisfied smile.

     When the figures were done, Drake joined Morwenna at the fire.  He glanced around the room, realizing he hadn’t heard any noise from the kitten in a half hour or more. 

     Noticing Drake’s search, Morwenna gestured downwards with her book.  There, on her lap, cuddled in the folds of her skirt, and covered with her right hand, was a soundly-sleeping ball of fur, his tail tucked over his tiny pink nose.

     In answer to the question in his eyes, Morwenna smiled.  “You needn’t take him back,” she said.

     Drake smiled in assent.  “And what shall ‘ee name him?”

     “He’s very curious,” she mused.  "I think we should call him Hunter."

     When Morwenna retired for the night, she held a gray ball of fluff in one arm and a fabric-filled box in the other. 

     “’Twas a sweet gift, Drake,” she said as she paused in front of him, a smile on her face.  He responded with a brief kiss on her forehead, patting the little kitten’s head as he did so.

     Watching Morwenna’s retreating back and hearing her soft high murmurs of conversation directed at the kitten as she ascended the stairs, Drake wore a self-satisfied expression, eyes twinkling.  He sighed happily as he made his nightly rounds, shaking his head occasionally with a soft laugh, blowing out the candles one by one with relieved pleasure.

 


	5. Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Nampara Cove

    “Would you like to walk to Nampara Cove with me?” Drake asked one afternoon.  “I have no work right now, and the sky is lovely and clear.”

    Morwenna looked up from reading. She’d told him no many times before.  He had made it clear that she was to always follow her inclination. But today the sun was glimmering through the window, and she could see a hint of blue sky from where she sat.

    “Yes, I believe I will,” she said, setting down her book.  It didn’t take long for her to lace up her good boots, and soon they were walking down the worn trail towards the cliffs along the coast.

    When they reached the steep pathway down to the beach, Drake clambered down the rocks like a nimble mountain goat, then reached his hand up to Morwenna.  She smiled at him gratefully, took the offered hand, and then in a few quick steps joined him. 

    The tide was low, leaving a broad expanse of smooth sand between the cliffs and the breakers.  Drake headed off towards the sea, only realizing after a few steps that he hadn’t released Morwenna’s hand.  He stopped walking, and looked down at the brunette-haired girl at his side, who was gazing with a half smile at the sandy expanse and the blue ocean topped by white froth in the distance.

    She breathed in, filling her lungs, closing her eyes as she smelled the salt air.  “I’d forgotten how beautiful it was, Drake,” she said, glancing up at him with a smile. 

    “D’you remember how we used to dash across the sand until we couldn’t run anymore?” asked Drake, his dimples denting his cheeks as the wind ruffled his curls.  “We were but babes, weren’t we?  Now we are far too old and wise to run.”

    “Speak for yourself,” Morwenna said saucily, with a glint in her gray eyes.  Drake stood in stunned silence as his wife dashed off across the sand.  A gleeful grin brightened his face, as he took off after her with long, loping strides.

    When Drake caught up to her, he caught her arm with his hand.  She was laughing, gasping for air.  He pulled her towards him, his eyes asking a question.  There was no fear in her eyes, and he responded by pulling her into an embrace, folding her in his arms, with her cheek against his chest.  He stood like that for a moment, and she sighed against him, hearing his heartbeat in her ear.  Then, reluctantly, Drake released her and stepped back, giving her space and freedom again.  He turned toward the sea, his face away from Morwenna.  His gaze flashed heavenward with a quick sigh, and then he turned back to her with a grin.

    “Why, Miss Morwenna!” he said.  “Runnin’ like a wild heathen!  And ‘ee a fashionable young lady and all!”

    The run had pinked up Morwenna’s cheeks and brought a sparkle to her eyes. "I do think perhaps the heathens have the right idea," she retorted.  "Being a fashionable young lady is quite tedious, I must say."  She laughed outright at the look of stunned bewilderment on Drake's face.  

    "Drake, did you think I'd forgotten how to jest?" she asked him. 

His voice said, "Of course not, Sweet One." Drake's eyes answered her more honestly, and a pang hit Morwenna's heart. She smiled ruefully at him, then turned once again to walk on the hardened sand.

     Drake took a few long strides to catch up to her. “Shall we walk on to Nampara and visit Ross and Demelza?” he asked.

    “Thank you, no,” said Morwenna, doing her best to paste a placid expression on her face.  “I still feel stunted and anxious about being with other people,” she murmured apologetically.

    “D’you feel anxious about being with me?” Drake asked hesitantly.

    Morwenna reached out her hand and took his, turning them around and steering him back towards the shore.  “No, Drake,” she said.  “With you I just feel comfort.”

    As they walked, she gazed around at the beautiful scenery, the sky, and back over her shoulder at the ocean.  Morwenna was looking wide-eyed at the world around her, but Drake looked at only two things.  At his wife’s face, and at his hand, fingers entwined with hers.


	6. The Act of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake has some questions for Demelza and Dwight.

     “Sister, may I ask ‘ee a question?”  Drake held his hat nervously in his hands, gripping the brim.

     “I worry at the look on your face, Drake, but I will answer as I can,” Demelza smiled, bending down to pull the crusty golden loaves of fresh bread from her oven.

     “‘Ee know that Morwenna and I be not yet. . .”

     “Intimate?” she asked, trying to ease the progress of the conversation.

     “Yes,” said Drake.  “I do not make plans as if this day will ever come.  But my heart worries.  Because of her bad. . . her negative. .”

     “Experience?” Demelza offered, thanked by a blushing smile from Drake.

     “Yes.  Because of her bad experience with being a’bed, I am afeared that if we become . . . " He stumbled over the word. "Intimate. . . that I will--without meanin' to--treat her as ill as he.”

     With a sudden look at her brother, Demelza stopped brushing milk on the tops of the loaves of bread and came to sit across from Drake at the table. She held her hands out to him, and grasped his in hers across the table.

     “She called him ‘a monster,’ Drake,” Demelza insisted earnestly, looking Drake in the eyes.  “‘Ee are none of the sort.”

     “I wish to be a good husband,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement with Demelza's words.  “Morwenna has spoken to me of some of the things Ossie did, but she will not speak of what went on behind closed doors.”  He looked at his hands in consternation, then asked, “How does a man. . . woo a woman rightly?”

     Demelza smiled empathetically.  “I can’t tell ye all there is to know,” she said.  “But I can tell you this.  If there is not sweetness enough in her day, a woman may doubt what sweetness her husband shows at night.  She begins to feel that she is only desired and pursued for his pleasure, not for hers.”

     Drake looked as if he was internalizing the advice, then wrinkled his brow.  “Do ‘ee think Cap’n Ross ‘ud be able to answer my questions about the act of love, sister?”

     Demelza colored deeply, her eyes widening.  “On two counts, Drake, I beg ye not to approach my husband.  First, any advice he gives ye will just make you think of him and me—and that would not be proper." She shuddered visibly at the thought. "And second, surely you can see that Ross is not a man to talk of such things, no matter how knowledgeable or skilled he may be.” She smiled and blushed, realizing she had already revealed more than she wished to.  

     “I would talk to Dr. Enys,” she suggested.  “He is a married man, but accustomed to speaking of the functions of the body without embarrassment.  I believe he would be best able to educate ye.”

     The look of concern on Drake's countenance cleared immediately at the mention of Dwight, and Demelza smiled.

     "You have a good heart, brother," she said, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly as he grabbed his hat and headed out the door.

 

*****

     Dwight answered the door of his surgery to find Drake standing there.  "Ah," he said, a smile spreading across his face in welcome.  "A healthy young man at my door.  What brings you here?  Another burn, then?  You've got to be careful around that forge fire."

     "No, sir." Drake shook his head slightly, proffering his hands for Dwight to see there were no new burns on his palms or the backs of his hands.  "I have a question and I thought you would be the man to ask."

     "Certainly."  Dwight held the door open and gestured for Drake to enter, ushering him into the room that Carolyn had graciously furnished with bookshelves, and examination table, desk and chair, knowing that he could not avoid seeing patients, even in their home.

     Once the young man was settled on a chair by Dwight's desk, he leaned forward shakily.  After nearly a minute of his eyebrows and face illustrating an lively internal conversation, Drake finally broke the silence.  “I wish to know about the a-act of. . .of. . .love.” Drake stumbled over the words.  “Whatever knowledge ye can impart on me would be much appreciated.”

     Through years of practice, Dwight had learned to never express surprise on his face, no matter how much he felt.  With a small smile and a kind look, he decided to begin at the beginning.  “Well, sexual intercourse, or the “act of love” is when the male organ becomes erect and he inserts it. . .”

     Drake was quick to interrupt.  “I know that.  . .That part. . . I know,” he stuttered.  “But what I want to know is ... how does it. . . why does it . . . does it hurt the woman?”

     “It can,” said Dwight, taking one of his manuals off the shelf and examining it intently.  “If she is not also aroused.”

     Drake absentmindedly stroked the doily draped over the arm of his chair.  “You know that Morwenna and I are not. . .We have not ... consummated our marriage.  She was so affected by the marriage bed with. . .him, that it may never happen.  But I wish to know enough that I do not hurt her if it ever should.  So, what would cause a woman pain?” his voice tapered off.

     “Well, son,” Dwight answered in a fatherly manner.  “If a woman is not aroused, she lacks the readiness for her husband.  When she is aroused, the female organ—the vagina—creates a substance, somewhat like sputum, a lubrication, that acts just as oil on a wheel.  And this makes the process less painful, if not pleasant for her as well.  The more aroused she is, the more enjoyable the experience for both man and wife.” Dwight looked quickly back at the books on the shelf, struggling to cover his own blushing face as a recent delightful dalliance with Carolyn leapt into his memory, one in which the wife was most certainly as aroused as the husband, if not more so.

     Drake could not hide his confusion. “Well, then, how does a woman become aroused?” asked Drake.  “I know full well it takes not much for a man.  A beautiful face, a smile, a touch.  The sight of a woman’s body, even in her clothing.  Do you mean that womenfolk are the same?”

     “Not so suddenly, or so clearly," Dwight laughed, shaking his head.  "And not as much through sight, though women can appreciate the male form.  For many women, arousal comes through touch,” said Dwight.  “And so a husband may turn his wife's mind toward love making by his actions.  Gentle touches throughout the day in advance—a hand on the back or elbow to guide her, a stroke of the arm, or touching a curl of her hair.  Then once she's shown a receptivity through smiles or touches of her own, then touch can progress.  To kissing, of the lips and face before undressing. As clothing is removed, the stroking and kissing of the skin—not just the. . .ahem. . .breasts.  The neck, the shoulders and arms.  The back, the sides and legs."  Drake squirmed in the chair, his own body responding to the thought of touching Morwenna.

     “And time,” Dwight added, closing the book he was holding with a snap and placing it back on the shelf.  “A woman may need a quarter or half of an hour of the less intimate kind of touching before she’s ready for touching of the more intimate parts." 

     Drake’s face was scarlet, but he was not done with his line of questioning.

     “But. . .what if not touch?” asked Drake.  “My love flinches at the merest brush of my hand at times.”

     Dwight looked at the young man compassionately, remembering his own struggles to be able to tolerate sudden sounds, to be around noise, chaos, and people, even to accept Carolyn’s touch when returning from war.

     “The greatest source of arousal, Drake, is love.  And particularly of feeling safe, cared for, and valued.  If I were to diagnose your wife's problem in her first relations, it would be that she did not love and could not trust Osborne.  I cannot share too much of what I know, and it does no good to speak ill of the dead.  But Morwenna’s first husband did not take her needs into consideration.  His pleasure and his desire were the rulers in his bedroom.  And her pleasure was of no importance to him.”

     “But I would caution you,” continued Dwight, seriously meeting Drake's gaze.  “As long as Morwenna flinches at your touch, do not approach her with any expectation that intimacy will occur.  If she flinches at your hand on her shoulder, imagine her response to the act of love.”

     “‘Ee speak rightly, doctor.  And this I well know.  When we married, I vowed to live as brother and sister forever if needed.”  Drake’s face, which had been blushing with the thought of sexual involvement, took on a look of calm, kind maturity.  “There is so much to our life that I love.  But I wish to know enough that I never hurt or harm her with my touch.”

     “Touch is absolutely essential in lovemaking,” said Dwight.  “In those more intimate moments after clothing is removed, the touching becomes more sexual in nature.  Not just touching with the fingers, but kissing the skin with the lips, or stroking it with the tongue, gentle nibbling with the teeth.  What she enjoys depends on the woman.  She may prefer a gentle or firm touch. You will sense her readiness for intercourse when breathing increases to gasps.  You will need to communicate with one another, for sometimes a woman’s response to pleasure during the act of love can sound like a moan or a cry or whimper, yet she may not be in pain.”

     “And what of that?” asked Drake.  “What will bring a woman pleasure?  Is it from movement. . .of the man’s. . .organ. . .inside her?”

     Dwight’s eyebrows rose, but he did well to keep his response to Drake in check.  “Excellent question,” he said, scanning the book cases for one particularly large tome.  “I have a few diagrams to show you.  It may be somewhat embarrassing to view, but for such a studious young man as yourself, with a desire to successfully bring pleasure to his wife, it is one of the few ways I can offer you advice.”

     Drake drew his chair close to Dwight’s desk, peering closely at the line drawing as Dwight carefully explained each feature.


	7. Meat Pies

     Morwenna looked up from the bread she was kneading on the wooden kitchen table. Drake stood at the pump in the courtyard, hands grimy from the ash and tools of the forge, pumping the creaky metal handle until water gushed out. After a few failed attempts to keep his shirt out of the flow of the pump, Drake finally gave up and peeled it off over his shoulders, tossing it over a branch of the spindly tree that was making a go of its choice of rooting by a steady source of water. With his back towards her he pumped the handle rapidly, and Morwenna could see the muscles of his arms and back flexing and straining, strong shoulders tanned from days of working in the field in the sun.

     Watching him, Morwenna lifted her hand in a gentle gesture, a muscle memory. She had a sudden vision of the beach where she told Drake she was to marry Ossie. When Drake winced at her touch, telling her the Harry brothers had beaten him, Morwenna had asked Drake if she could see. He had removed his shirt there on the grassy slopes above the beach. 

     There had been something sweet but scandalous about seeing his unclothed body. She had gasped at the sight of the deep purple bruise left by the Harry brothers, had reached up and touched him.  And this was the position she subconsciously assumed now—her hand lightly resting on the memory of his skin so smooth under her fingers; warm like the glow of summer sun, his muscles tensing at her touch, the sudden shiver and the goose bumps that flared in response to her fingers on his skin. She felt a stirring in herself, a faint inkling of an old emotion. What was it?

     "I know not.” Morwenna startled herself by speaking out loud. “But I can't imagine being without him." Seconds later, Drake entered the house, his shirt slung over one shoulder. 

     "Here, let me," Morwenna offered, reaching out for the grimy linen. 

     "Bless you, Sweet One," was Drake's response. "Ye dinna need to.  It's filthy, and reeks of sweat and smoke."

     In response, Morwenna simply put one hand on his arm, and reached the other one out for the shirt, then gestured toward the back room. "It’s no trouble, my husband.  Your bath has been drawn for you, and is no longer too hot.  I'll put this in the washtub to soak. And I've made meat pies for supper, though my crusts could never rival Demelza's."  

     Drake's warm smile was joined by a twinkle in his eyes at the mention of meat pie. He leaned toward her and brushed a kiss on her cheek. "My sweet, I am a happy man."

     Morwenna colored with pleasure at the compliment and kiss. As her husband walked away, she gazed at the firm contours of his back, his breeches riding low on his hips. There was paler flesh there, where the sun had not darkened his skin. She looked away in embarrassment. 

     But he was her husband. Why should she not look? With a secretive smile, Morwenna glanced sideways at the disappearing form. Drake had been lean as a young man--he had filled out in the intervening years. There wasn't an ounce of needless fat on him, but he was big, with broad shoulders, muscled back, and. . .curved buttocks. She thought from his movements that he must be unbuttoning his breeches, and as he melted into the shadows of the back room, she squinted.  Suddenly there was an abundance of pale skin; the breeches must have fallen to the floor. Not that she could see him clearly.  But then Drake turned to pull the door closed behind him, and she got the impression of dark hair THERE, low on his pelvis.  She skittered toward the washroom like a mouse suddenly exposed to the light.

     The last time she had seen a man naked, it had been Ossie.  Everything about Ossie had repulsed her.  His pale skin, untouched by sun; his flabby flesh, dimpled with fat from the combination of gluttony and laziness. She hated his greasy hair, the way he spoke in foppish tones, the way he looked at her, the way he quoted scripture as a weapon against her, the way he prayed.  She hated his walk; his haughty way of looking down his nose at everyone.  His touch made her cringe.  His breath on her when he forced himself into her bed disgusted her.  She hated the way his sweat smelled as his body thrusted over her, the sounds he made as he invaded her.  She hated the way her body and bed smelled afterwards.  Everything about Ossie turned her stomach.  When he left her room, she would retch.

     Before she dropped the shirt into the wash basin, Morwenna hesitantly lifted it to her nose.  The rich undertone of smoke met her first; then the fresh newness of wood shavings.  There was also the musky smell of sweat—not the sour scent of nervousness, but the smell of hard work, of a man.  It was a curious combination, but she liked it.  She buried her face in the shirt, seeing Drake’s muscular form, remembering a purple bruise.  She remembered how he had turned to her in the windswept grass and wrapped her in his arms.  He had kissed her then, hungrily.  And she had responded, meeting his desire with her own, for that one moment lost in him, forgetting that she had been promised to another.

     If only she could go back there, back before everything descended into ugliness and hatred, disappointment and pain.  Before she had gone cold and dead inside.  Back when she felt alive and loved.  Breathing in Drake’s smell seemed to cast out the other man, the other memories.  She pressed the fabric toward her, inhaled it.

     She was ravenous. 

 ****

  
     Drake's bath had left his hair damp, little ringlets curling around his ears. As Morwenna finished pulling the pies from the oven, Drake placed two plates at the table, bringing down two glasses from the shelf, the decanter of port from the sideboard. They brushed past each other as she brought the pies to the table.   He met her eyes with a playful smile.  “You look lovely, my dear,” he said.  “Have you fixed your hair differently today?”

     Morwenna smiled back, her gray eyes twinkling, as they sat to eat.  She had felt ravenous.  But the meat pies, which had turned out remarkably delicious, somehow left her feeling empty still. 

     As they each quietly read by the fire after their supper, Morwenna kept stealing glances at Drake. A feeling was stirring in her, and she did not know where this would lead.  She stroked Hunter's soft gray fur with the resultant reward of a rumbly purr and a firm nudge from the cat whenever she would pause.  Morwenna closed her eyes, and breathed.  

 


	8. Seashells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trinket from the past. . .

     Morwenna sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair before bed. A wooden box rested next to her brush. Years before, Geoffrey Charles had created it in Drake's shop during school holidays, traipsing breezily into the Whitworth parlor to bring it to her, blissfully unaware that he had entered a house of horrors. He had waited eagerly for Morwenna to tear off the wrapping paper, and had gleefully shown her the secret compartment in the back of the box.

     She opened it now. Inside were her few treasures. A pair of pearl earrings--a gift from her father before he died, before his debts left them penniless. Before her fateful trip to visit Cousin Elizabeth's husband George, a trip that eventually resulted both in introducing her to the love of her life, and trapping her in a marriage to Osborne Whitworth.

     There was the necklace Rowella had given her, two fancy hair combs gifted by Cousin Elizabeth. But what was that?  She pulled a tattered string of golden sea shells from beneath the other items.

     Memories flooded back to her. She could see blue skies, wheeling white sea birds, endless plains of sand, and white-capped breakers on impossibly blue water.  A pair of teenagers, and a young boy darting toward the waves. . .

  _"Go on!  Go on, I dare you!”  Pink-cheeked, Morwenna eyed Drake teasingly, panting at the exertion of running along the sand, her hands propped on her hips.  Drake lifted a handful of seaweed threateningly, as if to release the sodden mess at her, but the look on his face was playful._

_"Oh, dare me somethin’ else, Miss Morwenna.” Drake lowered the seaweed, taking two cocky steps toward her, with a confident smile. “Dare me somethin’ worth darin’!”_

_“Such as?”_

_“Dare me. . .I dunno. . .” Drake searched the sand, then met her gaze.  “Dare me to kiss ye.”_

_At the look on Morwenna’s face, Drake suddenly lost his nerve.  “But then I’d ne’er presume so far, knowin’ ‘t’would not be fittin’.” He sank backwards, stepping away from her as if he could undo the words he'd just said.  The humor had melted off his face._

_“No, it would not,” said Morwenna, continuing to catch her breath.  She glanced over her shoulder at Geoffrey Charles, dancing in the foamy surf, then looked back at Drake.  “Not with Geoffrey Charles here,” she said, making direct eye contact._

_The look of embarrassment at overstepping the bounds of propriety became a flushed-face, dimpled grin as Drake comprehended what Morwenna meant.  He stepped towards her; reached for her hand, his fingers tracing the seashell bracelet he had made for her, had given her in the cave where they visited the holy well.  His hands, roughened by hard work, so incredibly tender, caressed her in a way that made her heart race._

      Shivers raced up Morwenna’s spine at the vivid memory. She could almost feel his hand on her.  Closing her eyes, she traced a line across her wrist, her chest expanding with a shuddering gasp.

      Morwenna cradled the shells in her hand and clutched them to her breast, surprised by the tears welling in her eyes.  During the years with Ossie, it was touching the shells that brought her comfort when Ossie rolled off of her after “availing himself” yet again. 

      Like a Catholic reciting Hail Marys as penance, she would lay in bed as she breathed her repeated mantra, once for each shell. "I love Drake Carne... I love Drake Carne…I love Drake Carne…I love Drake Carne.” 

      Morwenna had vowed she would never take the bracelet off, and she hadn't. But the rope braid had deteriorated through the years, and one day as she held him, John Conan had twisted his chubby fingers around the cord and pulled at the bracelet until it broke.  It was the one time she had slapped him, before falling to the floor to pick up the scattered shells.  She had immediately repented as his little face crumpled and his eyes filled with tears.  But it was the only thing, the one piece of Drake she’d had left.

      Touching the delicate shells now felt like fingering a rosary. She looked at them in her hand, tears obscuring her vision.  A sob shook her body, and the prayer of response poured out of her naturally. “I love Drake Carne,” she quavered in a whisper.  “I love Drake Carne! I love Drake Carne. I love Drake Carne.”  Burying her face in her hands, the shells pressed to her lips, Morwenna wept and wept and wept.

      When her tears were spent, Morwenna gently laid the shells down on the dressing table on a handkerchief.  She would mend them tomorrow.  But for now, she went to the basin and pitcher and splashed water on her face, looking at herself in the mirror.  Despite the intervening years, she still looked young.  Fresh air, exercise, and hard work with a man who loved her had brought a sparkle to those gray eyes, though they were currently rimmed with red. The eyes looked back at her with compassion.

      She spoke.  “Morwenna, child, that bracelet was more than a trinket, wasn’t it? It represented Paradise Lost.”  She slowly shook her head, her forehead wrinkling.  “But it’s not lost now.  Drake waited for you.  He married you, _knowing_ you were broken.  He is downstairs, so ready to comfort you.  You need not recite his name all alone in your bed tonight.”

      Suddenly Morwenna took a deep breath, looking around the room; then pulled on her dressing gown, and headed to the bedroom door.


	9. A Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sharing of comfort and rekindling of passion. . .

     That night, as Drake blew out the candles in preparation for bed, he heard soft footfalls on the stairs. When he looked up, there was Morwenna, hesitatingly standing three steps up. 

     “What is it, Sweet One?” he asked.  “Are you quite well?” She appeared to be trembling, her brown hair curling around her face, hiding her eyes.  He bent down and looked up at her, trying to meet her gaze. He thought her eyes looked red, as if she had been crying, and his heart dropped with concern.

     “I am well.  But I wish to ask you something,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

      “Love,” Drake responded.  “You are worrying me.  Our home, our money.  It is all yours.  My life is yours.  My heart.  You only need ask.”

     Morwenna took a deep breath, then met his gaze.  "Drake," she said. "Will you ... share my bed tonight?”  He searched her eyes, his brows furrowed.

     She rushed on, nervously filling the silence.  “To sleep, only.  To have you near me. I don’t believe I am yet ready for more." 

     "I will give you whatever comfort you wish, Sweet One," he said. "If ‘ee retire to bed, I will join you directly."

     Her heart pounding in her ears, Morwenna retreated to the bedroom.  Drake turned, wide-eyed, towards his own room.  The pace of his breathing had increased, and he paused, squared his shoulders, took a breath and seemed to steel himself.  He set his jaw, entered his bedroom, and knelt by his bed.

***

     Morwenna’s bedroom was dark when Drake entered with a single candle to light the way.  A lump under the covers and a spill of curls on a pillow were the only things marking Morwenna's presence. 

     He chuckled. "Well, this may be an issue. I have always slept myself on the left side of the bed. If that is your chosen spot, you may have to kick me back if I encroach in my sleep."

     Morwenna propped herself up on one elbow, watching shyly as Drake approached the bed, clothed fully in his nightshirt and long underbreeches.  Curiously, she felt a strange sense of disappointment that he wore as much as he did, but took pleasure in seeing the dip at the base of his throat and the strong lines of his clavicles in the open neck of his night shirt.

     He carefully pulled back half the covers and climbed gently in, laid himself down and pulled the covers up to his chin, blowing out the candle just before he did. 

     He lay there in silence, unsure how to proceed. Finally, he heard a little giggle beside him. "Must I initiate everything?" Morwenna asked. 

     "Yes, truly," was Drake's honest answer. "I am afeared that I will miss-step. That something that I say or do will send ‘ee cowering away from me."

     "Drake, I know your heart," Morwenna responded. “Give me your hand.”

     She reached out for his hand, and pulled him onto his side to face her.  Holding his hand in both of her own, she pulled it up to her lips. "I know you will never wrong me.  You have proven to me that what you vowed was true—that you would willingly live with me as brother and sister.  That you would never let desire rule you.  You are so good. . ." she whispered, her warm breath on the back of his hand, her lips brushing it as she spoke. 

     He covered their intertwined fingers with his other hand. "Nay, Sweet One," he responded.  "I am no saint. I am _afeared_ for being in this bed with you. I _long_ for ye. Every day I long for ‘ee. I pray for strength, but if ‘ee but said the word. . ." He stopped himself, pulled his hand from hers.  Morwenna sensed him roll away from her. She reached her hand towards him and found his back shaking. 

     "Drake?" she asked, "Drake?" She struggled to light the candle on her side of the bed. When she succeeded and left the bed to go around to his side, she found him with his hands covering his face, shaking with silent sobs. 

     At her gentle touch on his arm, Drake began to speak. "You once told me that **_he_** would beg. That you were made to feel guilty for his needs and that your own were not considered," Drake choked out. "I promised you that I would never behave thus. But I have just done the same."

     "Will you look at me?" she said. Drake removed his hands from his face. She was kneeling by the bed, her gray eyes fully focused on his. With compassion, she said, "Drake, I remember who you are.”

     She stood and stepped away from the bed. Her white muslin nightdress was edged in lace.  “I have a story for you," she said.

     The light of the candle flickered upon her face and made strange shadows on the wall behind her. 

     “We were in Geoffrey Charles’s turret room, looking at his drawings and pictures.  But then he knocked over the candle and went to get another one.  I was standing by the fireplace.  I put my hand on the mantelpiece.”

     “I asked if ye were cold,” Drake added.  “I thought I felt you shiver.”

     “But I wasn’t cold, Drake.  I only felt you near.”

     “And I put my hand on yours.  And then I kissed your hand.” There was a warmth in Drake’s response, as he remembered the night more vividly.

     “You kissed my hand?” There was a smile in her voice.  “You kissed every _finger_.”

     "Remember," said Drake, "The room was **_dark_**."  He blew out the candle as he climbed from the bed and reached his hands towards her. "Your back was to me."   He gently touched her arms as he turned her away from him, and he could feel her tremble, but she did not retreat or pull away. “I put my hands on your shoulders,” he added.  “I’d never touched a woman like that before.”

     “And then you kissed me,” Morwenna said in a small voice.  Drake turned her slightly towards him as she lifted her face, bent his head, and kissed her gently on the lips.

     "My heart beat so fast, Drake, I was certain you could feel it. I desired you so strongly. I wished for Geoffrey Charles never to return. I **_wanted_** to do _this_."

     She lifted her fingers to the wide neckline of her nightdress and pushed it off one shoulder, revealing the white expanse of her neck. 

     Stepping closer, he swept her hair to the side with his hand, and began to kiss the skin she had just revealed--her neck, her shoulder, and the softness where neck and shoulder met. Her breath came faster. He could sense rather than see as her hands came up to loosen the strings at her neckline, and the fabric fell away from her back. 

     With his fingers he drew gentle circles on her skin, traveling from neck to shoulders, to arms, tracing over her shoulder blades and following the edge of the nightdress across her back. He could feel the pricks of goose pimples raised by his touch. His lips were still on her neck, soft kisses feathering her skin. She let out a slight, gasping moan. 

     "Stop?" Drake whispered.  "At any time, simply say the word. I will freeze, and go no further."

     "No," she whispered. "I have never felt thus. What is this that rises in me? A dissatisfaction, an ache, a longing?  I can scarce breathe, and yet it is not unpleasant."

     Drake buried his face in her hair. "Desire, dear heart. I feel it every time I look at you."

     "I wish for more," she whispered. She dropped the strings of her nightdress, and straightening her arms, the dress fell to the floor. 

     Drake stepped closer to her to warm her exposed skin with his body. With his fingers he followed the curve of her sides down to her hips, his thumbs tracing her spine, then circled his hands around her waist and up until they were just below her breasts. He hesitated. 

     "Yes. Please," said Morwenna. She put her hands on his, and urged them upwards until they cupped the soft flesh. With his forefingers Drake explored until he found her nipples, tracing them until they stiffened under his touch. Morwenna's breath came even faster now. 

     Drake turned her towards him and met her reaching lips with his own. Her lips parted and her tongue gently met and caressed his lips and tongue. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, dug his fingers into her hair and held her close, as if he could fuse them into one flesh by sheer will. He was so erect he was aching, but he turned his body slightly to conceal his need. Morwenna's gasping moans revealed her own growing arousal.  For a split-second he felt grateful to Dwight for his clear tutelage.  If he had not known better, he might have thought he was hurting her.  Very quickly, Dwight was cast from his thoughts, as his hand once against traced the curve of Morwenna's breast, side, and hip. 

     Drake breathed, pulling himself away from his wife's body out of necessity.  He was gratified to feel Morwenna's reluctance to let him go, and thought he even heard her whisper, "More!"

     "My Love, I wish to bring you ultimate pleasure."  The husky whisper in her ear sent shivers up Morwenna's spine, all the way to her scalp until she thought she might take flight and leave her body, but the reassuring squeeze of his hand on her shoulder grounded her.  Drake stroked her cheek, and met her lips with a gentle kiss.  "Have no worries that I will take anything without your consent. But if you will lay upon the bed, I can use my hands and lips to bring you release and relief."

     He helped her lower herself to the bed, his hands never stopping their slow, delightful dance across her flesh. He leaned down, his lips finding the soft skin of her breasts as his hand caressed her abdomen. Her belly jumped beneath his touch, but he could tell it was not unpleasant to her.  With his tongue he traced her hardening nipples, and her back arched into him. With his right hand he caressed her shoulder and arm, and gripped her breast to bring it closer to his exploring tongue. With his left hand, he circled his touch down to her thighs, caressing her until he sensed her willingly spreading her legs and tipping her pelvis upwards. He did not immediately respond to this obvious cue. 

     Instead he began a slow descent with his lips. The underside of her breast, (met with faster breathing), her rib cage, her abdomen (more jumping flesh, quivering with the mix of ticklish and erotic response), and then her thighs. 

     "Will you turn your legs towards me?" Drake asked. Morwenna did as he requested, her feverish desire helping her see that this would be nothing like her previous experiences. She parted her legs and drew her feet towards her thighs, waiting for the rustling sound of dropping breeches and then what would come next, only a slight sense of dread dampening her response. "It's Drake, its Drake, it is my love," she repeated in her head, trying to calm the clenching fear beginning to rise up.  

     Instead, she felt warm breath on her inner thighs. And lips, brushing tender kisses where she had expected force and pressure.   He took his time, repeatedly pressing his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his fingers running over her hips, her buttocks, her outer thighs, and up her legs leading toward the sensitive skin at the back of her knees. Her breath came in gasps, and she could not hold back moans and sighs of pleasure.  When she felt she could bear no more, Drake took his hands and gently parted her curling hair. And then she felt, with a gasp of stunned bliss, his tongue gently caressing her. 

     The little kittenish “mew,” that escaped her mouth surprised Morwenna, but seemed to give Drake encouragement to continue, his warm breath and soft tongue exploring her as she panted and sighed and cried out with each warm, wet stroke, his hands continuing to alternate between caressing sensitive skin and firmly gripping her hips.

     She was so aroused that after a few minutes of being caressed by his tongue, her body began to respond with a rising sensation she could not describe.  She cried out as if in pain when the tremors began, quickly followed by a surge of buzzing, rhythmic contractions that exploded in blissful sensations she had never before experienced.  

     "What was _that_?!!" Morwenna exclaimed breathlessly as Drake fell, panting, on the bed next to her. 

     "Euphoria?" Drake chuckled. Morwenna tucked herself under his arm with her head on his chest. She felt weak and lightheaded, pantingly catching her breath.

     “How was that, my love?” Drake asked.

     “It was … amazing," she said. "Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”  Morwenna looked up at Drake, who lay there with his eyes closed.  Even by the light of the moon she could see a look of smiling self-assuredness on his face, that same look that had made him so attractive to her in their first months of getting acquainted.  She suddenly realized she wasn’t yet satisfied.  “Now, for you?" she asked.

     "I scarcely dare hope, Sweet One," Drake responded. "Shall we wait for another day?"

     "No," said Morwenna firmly. "I long to bring you pleasure. But we must light a candle. I need to see the face of my one true love."


	10. Loveday

     The candles Drake left the bed to light softly illuminated the rumpled sheets.  They added to the rosy hue of Morwenna’s face as she rested on the pillows, the sheets pulled up to her shoulders.  Her hair was tousled, her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated dark black, her lips ruddy scarlet. He could see she was still breathless from the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the sheet.

     Drake couldn’t help himself.  He leaned over to kiss her.  “My love,” he said.  He kissed the blushing cheeks, her forehead, and her lips.  “My sweet.”  He straightened up again and met her eyes with a tender gaze. “I love you, Morwenna.” He said her name gently, in the lilting, musical way it was meant to be spoken.  

     Morwenna had never felt so open.  She didn’t want to compare; didn’t want to be thinking of Ossie in the middle of this.  But as Drake had once said to her, “the shadows prove the sunshine.”  It was only in the comparison that she could realize she was finally ready.  Her soul felt open, loved.  Her body could finally unclench, could finally receive, could finally experience making love, for that’s what she felt for Drake.

     She desired him.  She wanted to be one with him.  She _needed_ to give herself to him.  She ached to have him inside her.

     “You’ve waited long enough,” Morwenna said, drawing the covers to the side and revealing her body.

     Drake gasped, his chest heaving.  His eyes widened as he took in the sight, the smooth, pale skin like. . . well, he didn’t know what to compare it to.  The curve of her womanly hips.  And her breasts, full and round.  He felt a moment of embarrassment, shook his head, and looked away as if to give her privacy.

     “I invite you to look upon me, Drake,” said Morwenna.  “I am yours, all yours.  Only yours.”

     “You are **_so_** lovely, Sweet One.”  Drake shook his head in amazement.  Were there fresh tears in his eyes? He moved toward the bed as if to climb in it.

     “Do you intend to remain clothed?” Morwenna asked curiously.  Drake, whose mind was full of only her, looked down and saw his nightshirt and breeches. 

     “Oh, no,” Drake chuckled self-consciously. He stepped back, unbuttoned the remaining button on his nightshirt and pulled it off over his head.  He shook the shirt off his arm where it had gotten stuck.  Normally neat, he let it fall to the floor, and then reached for the buttons on his breeches. 

     “Stop,” said Morwenna.  Drake froze, his hands still gripping the button, and looked up at her.  His shoulders slumped slightly.

     “Yes,”  he said, taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly.  “Yes.  It is too much for one night.”  He dropped his arms, and reached towards his shirt on the floor.

     “No, silly,”  Morwenna shook her head in amusement, dropping her legs off the side of the bed, and sitting up.  “You misunderstand.  I have never undressed a man.  And I wish to.”

     Drake met her eyes, which far from their normal hazy gray, were intensely dark. 

     “You wish to. . .what?” he asked in surprise.

     “My husband,” she retorted calmly.  “Come.”  She reached her hand out to him, raised her eyebrows, and watched as he approached, visibly aroused and obviously uncomfortable.

     With a final glance at his face, Morwenna smiled, then turned her attention to the buttons on the front of his underbreeches.  The first button unfastened easily, but the second gave her some trouble.  Finally she freed the wayward thread, and the task was complete.

     She looked up at his face again as she dropped the front of the breeches, then gripped both sides of his trousers and lowered them past his hips to the floor, taking a moment to maneuver the breeches over a rather sizeable roadblock.  Drake shyly watched her motions, the sway of her body. Dizzily, he gasped at the unfamiliarly intimate touch of a woman on his hips, thighs, and then calves.  His chest heaved with each breath, his skin pricking up with gooseflesh. Her hair brushed against his legs as she lowered the breeches to the floor and then sat back up. 

     Drake smiled down at his wife, seeing her full breasts, now swaying from the motion of returning to a seated position, her salmon-colored nipples.  He drank in her smooth white skin, her slender legs and curving hips, the curling hair where her thighs met.  He was aroused beyond anything he’d ever felt.  He could scarcely breathe.

     “Please,” Drake sighed.  “Can we?  May I?” 

     “Oh, Drake,” Morwenna responded.  “Yes, my husband.”  She shimmied backward on the bed to rest her head on the pillow.

     Drake followed her, climbing up the valley created by her legs.  He paused at her breasts to take each nipple in turn into his mouth, to lick them, suck on them with firm pressure, and nibble them gently with his teeth.  Morwenna could feel her body contract inside at the sensation, closing her eyes to let herself feel her renewed desire.

     Drake then drew himself up the rest of the way to meet her lips with his.  He propped himself up on his elbows, kissed her cheek, buried his face in her hair, then met her eyes.  She could feel him against her thigh.  And she was not sickened.  Instead she felt desperate—craving, longing, yearning for him to be closer still.

     With a slight smile, Drake furrowed his brow.  “Sweet One, I know not,” he said hesitantly.  “I have not. . . I do not know. . .”  In response, Morwenna drew her legs upward, opening herself, lifting herself closer to him.  And as countless generations of men had done before him, Drake found his way.  As he slid into her silken warmth, he gasped.  And at the same time, Morwenna drew in a sharp breath, then laughed.  Drake froze.

     “Fear not,” she said, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him firmly.  “I do not gasp in pain, but pleasure. I do not laugh in ridicule, but relief!  He could never rouse me thus.  I never once wanted him, and my body never responded like it does now.  I didn’t even know this was possible.”

     Drake had stopped moving, was just watching her face as she spoke, obviously wanting more reassurance that he had permission to continue.  Morwenna reached up to his head, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and drawing his face down to hers.

     “Oh, Drake,” she whispered in his ear, “Make free with my body.  Move how you will.  You have brought me pleasure I’ve never in my life known.  Now let me bring you this pleasure, too.”

     Drake resumed kissing Morwenna as he gently moved within her.  Resting on his elbows above her, he looked in her eyes, which were clearly focused on him.  After a time, Morwenna could sense a shift in the pace of his movements, but was equally distracted by her own physical response.  Above her, Drake’s facial expression was a parade: amazement, stunned surprise, entranced daze.  Morwenna was astonished as she began to feel again what she had experienced for the first time minutes before.  And as Drake shudderingly climaxed above her, she felt the heady buzzing contractions, this time brought on by the sensation of fullness, the stimulation of friction, and by her delight at bringing her husband pleasure.

     “Oh,” he said. “Oh, Morwenna.”  Still inside her, he collapsed onto her chest, his lips against her breast, panting. "I have never. . . I'm so. . ." Finally, shaking his head in amazement, Drake lay back upon the pillows and pulled Morwenna close to him.

     As they lay with each other, wrapped and resting in each others’ arms, skin to skin, Morwenna turned her face towards Drake’s, her chin on his chest.  “Drake?” she whispered to her husband.

     “Yes?” he asked, pulling her closer to him, his arm around her shoulder.

     “Drake, I think it’s gone,” she whispered, trembling.

     “What is, my love?” Drake’s voice was warm and resonant, a new masculine confidence almost audible in the way he spoke.  He’d _known_ a woman; he’d bedded his wife.

     “The scar.  His mark on me.  You told me, on our wedding day, that you wished me to heal.  You asked me to trust the advice of a new physician.”

     “Doctor Drake, was I?” Drake chuckled, pressing a kiss onto Morwenna’s forehead.  “I only knew that I loved ye, and that I would do anything, _anything_ for you.”

     “You have loved me since our wedding day, have you not?” Morwenna asked gently.  “You’ve shown it from that day.”

     “Nay, Sweet One,” responded Drake, smiling good naturedly at her frown and wrinkled brow.  “I’ve not loved ye since our wedding day.  Since _far_ before then.  Since I saw a girl and a boy on a hillside above the sea.  Since I met a beautiful young lady picking flowers in the woods by Trenwith.  Since I made a wish at that holy well.  For as long as I have known'ee, I have loved ye.”

     Morwenna paused, and there was a catch in her voice as she spoke.  “I’m sorry that I have not loved you as well or as much.  But I wish you to know,” she paused.  “Truly, I love you now. I **_love_** you.”  She spoke each word with emphasis, pulling herself upwards to meet his lips in an earnest kiss.  “I only wish that when we celebrate the anniversary of our wedding day that it could mark our truest love." 

     In response to the confusion on Drake's face, Morwenna elaborated.  "I came to you so broken.  You married a shell, a hollow woman.  Shall we really look back upon that day with fond remembrance?”

     “ _ **I**_ will, Morwenna,” said Drake earnestly.  “That was the day my dreams came true. Marrying you was all I ever longed for.  And no mistake, that _is_ the day of my truest love. The day when I married ye, _knowing_ what I knew.  Could love be truer than that?”

     “I see what you are saying,” Morwenna responded, her eyes glistening moistly.  “But it was not a whole woman who married you that day. I married you. And I loved you. But I didn't _feel_ it then. I _feel_ it now.”  Drake reached up to her cheek, with his thumb gently tracing the path made by one single tear.

     “I know, Sweet One!” Drake said, his voice brightening.  “Let us have another anniversary day then.  Let it be _this_ day.  And let us call it our ‘Loveday.’”

     “I should be embarrassed to tell others we are celebrating our _love day_ ,” exclaimed Morwenna.  One could almost hear her blushing as she spoke.

     “ ** _I_** ,” Drake teased, “Should be proud to shout it from the rooftops! To not only celebrate our **_love_** , but to mark the day we **_finally_**. . .” Abruptly his words were stopped by Morwenna’s hand over his mouth, quickly followed by her lips against his.  Bridegroom and bride laughed together.

     And then they fell asleep, finally, fully man and wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter pays homage to the books by Winston Graham. Very little of Morwenna & Drake's story gets told in books after The Angry Tide. But we do discover that Drake and Morwenna have a daughter. And her name is "Loveday." :)


	11. Not Quite Happily Ever After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The habits of months and years are not easily broken. . .

**Not Quite Happily Ever After**

 

     Morwenna stretched languorously in the bed when she awoke.  Certain muscles of which she was usually unaware made their presence known, particularly in the region of her inner thighs.  With her eyes still closed, she sighed and shivered, remembering the previous night.  It was such a strange thing to think with pleasure on the act of love. 

     But to think of Drake’s warm skin under her hands, his strong arms, his broad back. . . Morwenna stopped with a start.  He had touched her.  _All over_ , she thought with a blush, reaching up to cover her face in embarrassment.  She had held him, had touched his face, had put her fingers through his hair.  She had taken off his breeches.  She shuddered with embarrassment at her brazenness, shaking her head and pressing her hands more firmly to her face at the memory. 

     But she hadn’t really _touched_ him.  She wanted to.  To feel the warm smoothness of his beautiful young skin, to memorize his muscles.  To see his eyes darken in response to the power of her hands and body.  She felt a growing warmth in her abdomen, and experienced a small inward clenching at the thought of him.  Shyly she uncovered her eyes and turned her head.

     The pillow beside her was empty.  She put her hand on it, and couldn’t even feel any residual warmth.  When had he left?  She could faintly hear the ringing sound of the ax hitting wood outside.  Of course, he was at his work.  Though slightly disappointed to have to wait, there would be many nights to come. 

     Morwenna looked down, and blushed at the sight of her unclothed body.  Sometimes Ossie had made her undress.  Usually, (and thankfully) though, he didn’t have time for those preliminaries.  She could be wearing a nightgown, bundled up in a coat, wearing her church finery or dressed for a ball.  It little mattered to him.  There was never time for her body to ready itself (had she even known such a thing was possible?), and often afterwards she would sting and burn, when she washed herself to remove every trace of him that she could.

     “No,” she said to herself firmly.  “Stop!”  It would take some work to put aside the memories of Ossie, to extricate him and those memories from her thoughts about the act of love.  She should be able to do so eventually, though; that act had _never_ been in love.

     Crossing the room, Morwenna poured a small amount of frigid water into the ewer.  She didn’t mind having Drake’s scent upon her, but she knew that if she didn’t clean herself, she might begin to experience ache and urgency with making water.  One more thing she’d had to learn with experience; something a mother should surely have told her daughter before releasing her into the world.

     She brushed her hair and then opened the wardrobe.  With working about the house and yard, as well as not having a ladies’ maid, she had started wearing more skirts with fitted short jackets over them, things she could easily fasten in back or button up the front.  Today, though, she felt like wearing something else, something that might bring Drake pleasure.  From the far left side of the wardrobe, she removed a robin’s egg blue dress with a low square neckline.  She’d need to add a fichu, especially when she walked to the market this morning, but it was her loveliest outfit.   

     After pulling on her petticoats, Morwenna grasped the laces of her corset and awkwardly tightened it from the front.  Now would be a time a ladies’ maid would be convenient to have, but she would not trade this life for that convenience.  She had gained a few inches since marrying, and she wanted the dress to fit.  As she buttoned up the white filigree buttons, looking in the mirror, she blushed at the spill of her bosom above the neckline.  She tucked the white muslin fichu in around her décolletage, eyeing the lace fichu still hanging up in the wardrobe.  Perhaps tonight, when the day was done, and Jack Trewinnard wasn’t around to eye her with his mouth hanging open. . .

     With her market basket over her arm, Morwenna crossed the yard and rounded the corner of the forge to reach the woodpile where Drake was working.  He was stripped to the waist, his back and arms glistening with sweat.  The pile of wood lengths seemed markedly shorter than it had been just yesterday, and the stack of split wood, newly exposed plains of wood grain nearly white, was quite a bit taller.

     “Drake?” she said.  He hadn’t turned at her approach.  Perhaps he hadn’t heard her.  “Drake?”

     He turned, and with just a cursory glance at her, reached over to his water jug.  He swigged the lukewarm liquid into his mouth, closing his eyes, then replacing both hands on his ax as if his work demanded an immediate return.

     “Yes, Sweet One?” he asked. He looked anywhere but at her: first at the pile of finished wood, then the jumble of lengths still waiting to be split, and finally out over the countryside.  He seemed impatient, irritated by her presence.

     Morwenna felt timid and shrunken, the residual boldness of the morning dissipating like the sea mists that had already been burned off by the sun.

     “Have you broken your fast?” she asked hesitantly.  At the shake of his head, she offered him one of the two Cornish pasties she held in her hands.  “Sausage and apple,” she said, “Your favorite.” 

     “Thank you,” he said.  He took a gigantic bite off one end, and gingerly placed the remainder on his shirt, which was draped over the fencepost.  “’Oo ‘ou ‘eed anything?” he asked, mumbling through the pastry and filling.  Finally, he met her eyes with a gentle smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, finishing the bite, and asking again, “Do you need anything?”

     “No,” Morwenna answered.  “I’m just off to walk to town.  I’ve run out of cheese cloth, and the cows are producing so much milk that it’s time to make more.  “Is there anything you need?”

     “Not that comes to mind,” said Drake.  His forehead was furrowed as he thought.  Finally he shrugged and shook his head. 

     Morwenna stepped towards him.  Usually when they parted, he would wish her goodbye, just a peck on the forehead or an arm around her shoulders.  Today, though, he seemed to hold back.  “My apologies, Sweet One, I’m covered with sweat,” he said, gesturing towards himself with a grimy hand.  “I don’t want to dirty your lovely dress.”  He cocked his head to one side, as if seeing the blue silk for the first time. 

     He looked up at her face curiously, and she could see a question nearly escaping his lips.  But then Drake shoved the remainder of the pasty in his mouth and gestured towards his ax.  “Shall I see you later, then?” he asked.

     “Well, of course,” she responded, eyes narrowed.  With pursed lips, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the yard.

     All the way to town Morwenna fumed.  “Men.  Oh, they’re sweet as honey until they get what they want, but let them have their way with you, and then you matter not to them at all.  As long as I feed him and keep the house swept, mend his clothes, tend the chickens, wash his filthy laundry. . .I’m little more than a maid; and **_I_** don’t receive wages!”  Her bitter fury soon melted into bitter tears.  When she heard a horse and cart approaching around the corner, Morwenna rushed away from the road, removing herself to a clump of trees where she plopped on a rock, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.  “Why doesn’t he want me anymore?  Am I so disgusting to him?”

     When Morwenna returned from the market, Drake was at the forge, pounding away with the harsh clang of metal on metal.  The remnants of a quick lunch meal remained on the table in the house, crumbs from brown oat bread and a hardened rind of cheese left on a plate.  She bitterly picked up the plate, dropped it into the dish pan, and grabbed the bucket by the door to go fetch some water.  She was quickly apprised of the impracticality of her lovely blue dress when she tried to rapidly pump the handle.  Not only were the sleeves too tight, she could barely bend over to reach the handle at all.  After doing the dishes and sweeping the floor, she decided that if she were wearing this dress, it was most definitely a day to be a lady of leisure.  She retrieved her book and yarn basket from their shelf, placed herself on the more comfortable chair, and consumed the rest of her day with attempts to distract herself, interspersed with bouts of sniffles that might have made someone think she was coming down with a case of cold.

     When Drake came in from his work at the end of the day, there were no appetizing smells emanating from the stove.  Only two candles brightened the area where Morwenna sat, but she hadn’t even lit the fire.  It had been a long while since she had chosen not to cook their supper.  It had happened more frequently back in the early days when he assured her that she should respond to her own desires, in an effort to break the chains of her first abusive relationship.  This neglect was an unfamiliar sensation. 

     Drake mentally kicked himself for succumbing to temptation the previous night.  It was clear to him now that though it seemed mutually desired at the time, their intimacy had opened deep wounds.  It had taken months to get to the point of friendship and humor, much less to reach a place where she had invited him to her bed.  Wretched man!  Why could he not have left it at serving her?  Or even just held her, kept her company like she had requested?  Why had he needed to take his own pleasure as well?

     His heart in his throat, Drake sliced boiled potatoes from the cold cellar into a skillet with butter and sliced sausage, then laid the fire, kneeling by Morwenna’s feet.  He took a sidelong glance at her, but she appeared wholly immersed in her book.

     While the supper was cooking, Drake set the table, poured two glasses of port, and then brought the steaming pan to the table.

     Morwenna did join him to the table, saying, “This is good.  Thank you,” as she ate and sipped.  Their conversation was clipped and abrupt.

     “How was your trip to town?” Drake asked.

     “Fine,” Morwenna responded.

     “Did you find the cheesecloth?” he asked, glancing over at the kitchen, which held no signs of the laborious cheese-making process.

     “Yes,” she said, dipping a few more pieces of sausage onto her plate.  “The price has increased by a pence!”

     After a few moments of silence, Morwenna sighed.  “Did you get the wood all split?”

     “Nearly,” Drake responded.  “I believe this should be enough for the next month or two.”

     “Did one of the Trewinnards work with you today?”

     “Yes.  I can’t be sure whether it was Jack or Jim.  How do you ever tell them apart?”

     “Their cowlicks turn opposite directions.  And Jack has two moles on his left cheek,” responded Morwenna.

     Drake cleared the plates and pulled the boiling water off the stove for washing.  He prepared a cup of tea for Morwenna, who had returned to the fireside at the conclusion of the meal.  After finishing with the dishes, he pulled out his forge paperwork as he did each evening and spread it upon the table.

     The awareness they had of each other was dizzying, but their ability to mask their emotions disconcertingly effective.  Drake was nearly nauseous with the strain of holding himself back, of not looking at Morwenna, not recalling her body, those hypnotic curves.  He could remember every instant of their evening together, could retrieve the image of her body at will, and he warred with his mind to eradicate the vision. He gripped his quill with such force that it snapped in two and he had to get up to retrieve another one from the jar on the shelf and his knife with which to sharpen it. 

     Morwenna’s eyes kept flitting over towards Drake, stunned at what appeared to be a strong indifference to her presence.  She turned her body towards her husband, leaned against the arm of the chair to present herself to him.  Despite her disappointment in Drake’s lack of response to her earlier, she had tucked the lace fichu around her neckline in such a way as to generously expose the mounds of soft flesh.  Murmuring to Hunter in a sweet voice, she stroked him repeatedly with her fingers, slowly and deliberately. She was pretending to be nonchalant, but her heart jumped at every noise or movement Drake made.

     “Sweet One,” Drake said, finally.  Morwenna straightened at the sound of his voice, her lips curving into a gentle smile.  “It has been a wearying day.  I am exhausted, so I believe I will go to sleep.  Would you be willing to bolt the door and blow out the candles?” He walked across the room, then stopped at the entry way to his bedroom, his hand on his cravat.  He looked toward, but not at her.  His eyes were downcast, his face placid.  “Good night.”

     Morwenna narrowed her eyes.  “Yes.  Certainly,” she said, in a calm voice that held just a hint of a quaver.  Drake turned, entered his room, and shut the door.

     At the click of the latch, Morwenna collapsed, slumped in her chair.  Her forehead wrinkled, and her eyes darted back and forth in confusion.  She looked down at herself, at the ridiculous blue dress.  She ripped the lace fichu out, relieved to be rid of the scratchy fabric next to her skin.  Her head ached at the stress of the day.  She should go to bed, too.

     She heavily traveled the room, latching the door, snuffing the candles.  When she reached the third step of the stairs, she turned.  Just yesterday, she thought, she had stood on this step and invited her husband into her bed.  And he had come.  How could it have gone so wrong in 24 hours?  She turned back, and was about to take another step, when she reminded herself.  “You know Drake.  This bitterness is not like him.”  She turned again, and rushed down the steps and to the door of Drake’s room.  She threw the door open with such force that it banged against the wall.

     Startled, Drake looked up.  He was kneeling beside his bed, shirtless, in just his underbreeches.  Morwenna looked shamefaced at interrupting his prayers.  Then she saw the deep lines on his forehead, and shiny traces of tears on his cheeks.

     “Drake,” she said.  She stood in the doorway, looking as if she might fall over.

     Drake leapt to his feet, but stayed rooted in place by his bed.

     “Do you…do you not _want_ me?” Morwenna’s plaintive sob tore at his heart, and Drake rushed over to her and pulled her to his chest, resting his lips on her hair. 

     “Oh, my Sweet One,” he murmured, the warm air of his breath seeping between the brown strands and giving her shivers that began between her shoulder blades and ended at her scalp. “Not want you?  I have fought my desire valiantly all day long.”

     Morwenna pulled away from the embrace, looking up into Drake’s familiar face.  She could clearly see it now, all the love and desire and anxiety, every emotion that she had also been flooded with all day.

      “I woke this morning next to you,” Drake said.  The memory came back to him in vivid images. 

_Sunlight streamed through the window and painted coppery highlights on Morwenna’s brunette hair.  They hadn’t dressed after their intimacy the previous evening, and as he had rolled slightly away for a better look at her, the quilt and sheets had drifted downwards._

_The morning light made mist of the tiny hairs on Morwenna’s neck.  She lay on her back with her face turned toward him, one hand curled up by her chin, dark eyelashes resting on her cheeks. He tried to focus on her hair and the familiar, sweet face, but like a magnet, the smooth lines of her throat, shoulder, and breast drew his eyes downwards. She was uncovered to slightly below the curve at the bottom of her bosom, and he could see the solidness of a rib beneath her glowing skin._

_On the previous night it had been dark, their room only lit by candles when he had looked on her.  By the bright light of day, he could see that her skin was covered with miniscule hairs, each one a pinprick of gold on her flesh. Though she was still asleep, which he could tell by the gentle, even breathing next to him, her skin responded to the chill of exposure by rising up around each tiny hair follicle.  The darker skin surrounding her nipples tightened as well, and the circles that had nearly been flush with her flesh made little hillocks in the middle of their ruddy islands. Drake felt the pace of his heart quicken.  In the morning he often awoke in his room downstairs with an irritatingly strong awareness of himself as a man; an unbidden, merely physical response to the time of day and his membership in the male gender.  At those times he would groan, roll over, fall back to sleep._

_This morning, though, he was in agony with longing.  He could almost feel the warmth and bliss of her body on his hands and lips, of her slick heat surrounding him.  He covered his eyes with his hand, but it didn’t stop the images of the night before still scorched in his mind.  He didn’t realize it was possible, but his body now responded even more strongly in the absence of sight._

_His body demanded response.  The solution, the solace for his desperate need lay right next to him.  Perhaps, he thought, but then realized it would be too much, too soon.  She’d barely invited him into her bed only last night.  And her invitation had not come with a request for sexual intimacy, just for comfort and affection.  For him to assume that the days of sleeping separately were past was both ignorant and insensitive._

_Quickly, the self-control he’d called upon so many times in the past six months rescued him.  He rehearsed the thoughts with practiced familiarity: The rank odor of the slop bucket immediately before he dumped it into the pig trough.  Chamber pots.  His mother’s gravestone._

_And when he had finally quelled the urge to reach out and touch her body, he rolled out of bed as quickly as he could, pulled on his breeches and shirt and tiptoed down the stairs, desperate not to awaken her.  If she called him back to bed or asked him to embrace her; if she even said his name, he had no idea what he would do._

_He pulled on his boots and plunged outside into the chilly morning air, took up the ax, and with all the force he could muster, attacked a giant, gnarled section of wood that he had avoided simply because it would be nearly impossible to split._

_When she had approached across the yard, he was aware of her from the instant she stepped out of the house.  As she talked to him, he hoped Morwenna could not tell he was blushing to the roots of his hair; hopefully he just looked flushed from exercise._

_And that dress.  With her bosom rising up from the neckline in two perfect heaps of flesh. He could have torn the dress off her right then and taken her there on the carpet of wood chips._

     “I woke up, and I wanted you.  I have warred against my carnal desire all day long.”

     Morwenna narrowed her brows, a look of confusion on her face. “Why war against desire for your wife?”  Suddenly, her eyes opened wide in realization.  “Because you’ve had to every day of our marriage?”

     Drake simply answered her question with a silent nod, a look of affection on his face.

     “When I woke up, I wanted you, too,” Morwenna said seriously.  “I thought about last night and felt the same hunger for you.  I reached for you, but you were already gone.  I even wore this wretched, impractical, tight, uncomfortable dress to bring _you_ pleasure.”  She looked down, shaking her head;, then glanced up at Drake’s face.  The hunger in his eyes wasn’t even loosely veiled.

     Drake turned and sat on the bed, pulling Morwenna to stand facing him between his legs.  He looked up at her face, then gently pressed his lips to her skin right above the blue bodice.

     “It would bring me pleasure to help you remove such an uncomfortable item,” Drake smiled teasingly.

     Morwenna choked out a half laugh-half sob, throwing her arms around Drake’s neck and squeezing him to her, unintentionally pressing his face between the heaps of her breasts.  “Please,” she said.

     “How are we to see our way through this?” Drake’s forehead wrinkled as he began unbuttoning from the bottom of the column of buttons, as Morwenna began from the top.  When their hands met in the middle, Drake grasped her fingers and brought them to his lips.

     “This?” asked Morwenna, gesturing at the ties of her corset.  She was short of breath still, the stays digging into her rib cage.  She was only too glad to have Drake untie the strings and begin loosening them, taking a deep breath when released from the bondage.

     “No, not your corset,” said Drake.  “This.”  He gestured with a finger between the two of them, looking into her eyes.  “The marriage bed.  My months and years of warring my carnal desires.  Your hurts and history.  How will we ever find our way?”  He untied her petticoat and held it steady as she stepped out.

     “By promising not to hide ourselves,” said Morwenna.  “Though it would have been terrifying for you, had you only _told_ me how you felt this morning, much of the confusion of this day would have been avoided…”

     With his eyes downcast, Drake nodded ruefully.  He met her gaze and with eyebrows raised in question, reached towards the ties of her shift.

     “Wait!” Morwenna exclaimed.  “Go outside the room.”

     Drake looked confused, but acquiesced, stepping outside the door and gently pulling the door closed.

     Morwenna rushed out of the remainder of her undergarments and under the covers of the bed.  “Come back in,” she called out.  Entering the room, Drake looked first at the feminine accoutrements scattered on his floor, then at the form in his bed.  He approached the bed, reaching to sweep the covers back, when Morwenna interrupted him.

     “You’re always trying to come to bed fully dressed,” she said, teasingly.

     “Close your eyes, woman,” chuckled Drake.  “I feel very shy.”

     Morwenna turned her head as Drake stripped off the last of his clothing and climbed in.  When he had joined her, she looked back at him.

     “Let’s start our day over, then,” she said.  “Since _both_ of us got it very wrong.”

     “Well,” said Drake.  “May I recreate the circumstances of the morning?”

     Morwenna smiled with a hint of confusion, but nodded in agreement.

     “You were sleeping on your back, with your face towards me,” he explained, as Morwenna shifted into place.  “With your hand by your face,” he suggested, as he helped her put the hand gently by her chin.

     “And the _covers_ were not doing their job,” he said, gently tugging downwards on the quilt.  Though Morwenna blushed profusely, her smile gave permission to continue.  He walked the sheet downward with his fingers until the view was reminiscent of the morning, then he propped himself up on one elbow as he had been when he inspected Morwenna in her bed.

     “You were asleep,” Drake repeated, and Morwenna obediently closed her eyes.

     “How could you have awakened me?” she asked.

     Drake gently gripped the sheet and pulled it up to cover her, then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and down her cheek, ending with a sweet, soft kiss on her lips.

     Morwenna stretched and sighed, her eyelids fluttering open to look at him.

     “You’re lovely,” he said, his fingers tracing the adorable slope of her nose and curve of her chin. 

     She met his eyes. 

     “I want you,” he whispered.

     “I want you, too,” she breathed.

     With the desperation of two starving people suddenly offered an abundance of food, they consumed each other with lips and hands.  Then, on the bed hallowed by countless prayers and washed with myriads of tears, they took each other again.  The angels bent low over the blessed joining, sheltering them, for the moment, from difficulty and pain.


	12. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain of waking. . .

     When he didn’t arrive back from Truro by mid-afternoon, Morwenna was not concerned. She stepped out to the garden, where she plucked several turnips, onions, and carrots after inspecting the rows for the green tops that looked most vigorous. She went into the root cellar and retrieved the rooster, hanging from the metal hook, that Drake had killed and plucked for her in the wee hours of the morning before he left. He knew it made her squeamish to do violence, so he was kind enough to do the butchering for her.

     She stoked the fire in the stove, basted the bird with sage, salt, and pepper, and surrounded it with the peeled and chopped vegetables. Once she’d put the roasting pan into the oven, she read another chapter in her book, wrestled through four rows of her knitting practice, swept the kitchen while Hunter repeatedly pounced on the moving broom, and then re-swept the kitchen once she put the annoying creature outside, just to pick up all the broken broom straws left behind from the cat’s exuberant violence.

     That completed, she took the vegetable scrapings out to the chickens in the yard, who rushed jerkily over to her with gentle chortling clucks when they saw the bowl she held.

     Setting the empty bowl on a stump in the yard, Morwenna wandered into the forge. She didn’t often spend much time in there. Usually it was hot from the fires, noisy with the clang of mallet on metal, and rank with the odor of sweaty bodies, hot metal, and burning wood. It did give her pleasure to be out there, though, in Drake’s dominion. When she did visit, to stick her head in to call the boys to lunch, or to pass along a request from a customer, she often felt a pang of admiration for Drake’s raw strength. She liked watching him interact with customers as they brought in their damaged harnesses and tools. He met each one in a cheery, obliging way, quick to assess the level of damage, reassure them that there was a solution, and to estimate the length of time it would take him to complete the project. He sent them off confident that the work would be done well and in a timely manner, usually with a smile on their faces from their pleasant interaction with him.

     She ran her hand over the tines of a rake on the work bench; felt the worn leather from a bridle hanging from a peg, the newly attached bit smooth and shiny. A separate table held the implements of his work—iron bars, tongs, hammers, and mallets. In one corner stood the stubborn projects that Drake sometimes spoke to her about—the metal that was somehow brittle instead of malleable, the often repaired (-----) that seemed to hold a softness or flaw in its metal that simply would not be repaired.

     “Drake spends every day mending broken things,” Morwenna thought, completely aware of the irony as she headed back toward the house. She couldn’t help but look up the road in case she might see the familiar loping stride, hoping to see the handsome face and ready smile. When she didn’t see him, she felt an unfamiliar pang in her stomach.

     Morwenna felt awake. Not as if she’d been asleep, but she’d been dull for so long. Repressing her fear, sadness, anger, and pain had also led her to quell pleasure, happiness and humor. It was as if the world had been covered with ash, and a fresh rain brightened all.

     And his persistence, his patient work on her, if you could call considerate kindness and sweet patience “work”, had brought them to the last few days. Morwenna felt a flutter in her lower abdomen as she recalled their first encounter in the darkness of her bedroom. Since then, any number of stimuli could instantly bring the memories flooding back to her, from seeing his clothing in the wash, to simply entering her bedroom or lighting a candle—in a moment she would be experiencing the heady thrill of his touch on her body, his lips and hands, and his skin—his beautiful young skin. Her breath came more quickly even now, and her hands flew to her face at the sudden flushing.

     Last evening had been a slow, blessed connecting. Drake’s admission of his desire for her; of his efforts to fight that desire for her sake, had brought them to a place of openness and honesty that felt raw. Though coming awake had given Morwenna more capacity for pleasure, it also opened her up to other less pleasant emotions. Like disappointment, fear, and this current ache in her gut that was an almost physical pain.

    “And longing!” Morwenna complained out loud to the purring gray form winding his way around her skirts. “When is Drake going to get home, Hunter?” she asked. Just before entering the house, Morwenna took one last look down the road. Far away she could see two lanky forms carrying tools, heading toward the house, one of them wearing a familiar floppy brown hat. It would be Drake and one of the Trewinnards, she thought.

     “He’s home, Hunter!” she exclaimed happily. Drake would be ravenous after his long day of work, and there were just a few things to finish before dinner, so Morwenna entered the house. Remove the chicken from the stove to rest. Set the table with dishes. Retrieve butter from the cold room, bread from the cupboard. The bottle of port, two glasses. She busied herself, imagining Drake and the teen putting their tools away, cleaning up the last few things. Any moment now. . .

     Hollow wooden thumps indicated that the master of the house was on the doorstep, stomping to remove the dust of the road from his boots. A creak and then sudden silence would be Drake sitting on the bench by the door to remove his worn footwear, a kindness he had begun to avoid tracking dust or iron filings inside. She heard the clunk as first one boot, then the other hit the porch, then the metal click of the latch.

     Drake entered the house wearily to find his wife standing inside waiting for him. Morwenna flushed and eagerly greeted him with a kiss. His response was one of measured enthusiasm. When Morwenna wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight embrace, Drake groaned slightly.

     Morwenna leaned away from him to look into his face. “Have I underestimated my strength?”

     “Nay, Sweet One,” Drake said slowly, “I am sore from my efforts today. The Trewinnard boys and I wrestled with a repair on the ______ pump from Wheal ______. It were heavy and unwieldy, and even wi’ the assistance of a whole team of men at the mine to force it back into place, my shoulders and back are aching.”

     "I know something that might make you feel better,” Morwenna murmured, looking up at him with a suggestive smile.

     Drake furrowed his brow. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he managed to imply that what Morwenna suggested hadn’t even crossed his mind. With a slight frown, Drake said, “I’m not certain that will be possible today. I wouldn’t be able to serve ‘ee well, groaning like a’ old man.” He smiled apologetically.

     Morwenna struggled to mask her disappointment, and then remembered their promise. He could be honest with her and express his tiredness. It would also be her right to honestly acknowledge her own disappointment. But she realized, looking at the weary slump of Drake’s shoulders, that he didn’t need another burden to carry today.

     In fact, she realized with a calming sigh, she could very well ease his aches and fulfill her own need for touch at the same time. The other morning she had thought about his skin, wanting to stroke him—to familiarize herself with his body. What better time to do it than when her touch could soothe his aching muscles? She realized that Drake was looking at her with concern, and suddenly her desire seemed less pressing.

     She smiled up at him. “You should bathe. Hot water will ease your aches...But you have other more urgent needs we can see to, first. Sit,” she said, motioning to the chair at the table, sliding the baking dish toward him, filled with crisp-skinned roasted chicken surrounded by tender cooked carrots and turnips. “Eat, please,” she encouraged him. Drake needed little urging after the draining efforts of his day, and was soon industriously attacking a slab of juicy breast meat and well-seasoned veggies.

     Morwenna threw several more small sticks into the stove, knowing they’d quickly increase the temperature of the flames. The huge kettle was already filled with half-warm water, but she added two more black iron pots to the stove top, filling them with water from the barrel Drake had helpfully put just outside the door.

     She’d prepared a bath enough times to know that if she filled the tub with two buckets of cold well water for each boiling pot, the water would be just the right temperature.  
As she left the house with a bucket in each hand, Drake made as if to get up. “No, my husband,” said Morwenna, shaking her head with a smile, “I wish to serve you.”

     To be honest, Morwenna was not in the least disappointed when she happened to catch Jack Trewinnard before he left the forge, the boy having been assigned the cleaning and closing up. Morwenna was pleased to be able to delegate the task to him with the promise of a little pot of chicken and veg to take home for his supper.

     While the slender young man made quick work of three trips to the pump, Morwenna laid out a clean bath cloth over the chair in the back room, retrieving a fresh shirt from Drake’s chest of drawers as well, and crushing a sprig of dried lavender into the bath water. Back in the kitchen, the one pot was now at a full boil, and with a doubled-up towel wrapped around the wire handle, the boy muscled the heavy iron pot off the stove and lugged it to the back room. While he did, Morwenna served up a generous portion of chicken along with the colorful root vegetables, and shooed Jake off with her thanks, along with the clay bowl wrapped in a cloth.

     After such a bustle of activity, she was flushed and sweating when she finally sat at the table across from Drake and served herself some supper as well.

     Drake gazed at her with his slow smile, his eyes blinking gratitude at her like a contented cat. “So delicious,” he sighed with pleasure, spearing vegetables with his fork. “How was your day?”

     “Quiet,” Morwenna responded. “But I don’t mind solitude. Just so long as you do come home.” She smiled across the table at him.

     “Wouldn’t dream of anything else,” Drake said, smilingly. He sighed, scraping up the last bit of savory gravy with a crust of bread, and closing his eyes as he chewed. When he finally opened his eyes, Morwenna ordered curtly, “Bath.”

     Drake’s dimple showed as he got up from the table, taking his dishes to the sink. “Who are ‘ee, brash girl, and what have ‘ee done with my wife?” he asked teasingly, brushing his fingers through the tips of her hair as he walked by her chair, in a simple touch that sent shivers up Morwenna’s spine.

     But he obeyed, heading toward the back room gingerly carrying the last two pots of steaming water to add to the cold.

     Drake thought he had pulled the door closed behind him with his foot, but instead of the sound of the latch, he heard a rustle of skirts following him into the room. Despite his exhaustion, he was instantly alert. He glanced over his shoulder.

     “I will help you,” she said simply.

     Though chagrined by her presence at first, Drake was soon grateful. His arms and back hurt so that removing his shirt would have been a chore to do alone. Even his fingers were blistered from pushing and pulling on the huge iron works of the mine, so her gentle fingers were much more capable of unfastening the buttons of his breeches.

     He felt sheepish and embarrassed, stepping into the bath in his altogethers, but when he glanced up at Morwenna’s face, he saw nothing but admiration.

     “Don’t you find a man’s body an odd thing, Sweet One?” He asked. “Not nearly so beautiful as a woman’s.”

      Morwenna looked amused. “ _A_ man’s body might be odd to me perhaps, but not yours.” As Drake sank deeper, she knelt by the head of the tub, dipping the wash rag into the steaming water, and rubbing soap into the fabric. Then she began washing his shoulders and arms, reaching behind his body to scrub his back. She moved around to the foot of the tub, gesturing for Drake to rest each foot in turn on the edge, then washing his feet and legs.

     After rinsing his back off with some clean warm water she’d held aside in a pitcher, Morwenna rose to her feet.

     “Wait,” said Drake. She knelt back down. He gently reached out, took her hand, and raising it to his lips said quietly, “Thank you.” Then he took her by the wrist and laid her palm gently on the surface of the bath.

     “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” he said, meeting her eyes.

     “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” she repeated quietly.     

     “You were my wish,” he whispered. “At the holy well. That day long ago.” His eyes sparkled, and Morwenna could feel her rib cage expand, as if her heart were swelling.

     “I wished for true love,” responded Morwenna with lowered lashes.

     “My wish came true,” Drake said.

     “So did mine,” Morwenna responded quietly, adding a few drops to the bath. Drake kissed her cheek gently, tasting salt, then sighed, sinking further into the water, his face flushed in the steam.

     Morwenna pushed herself up again.

     “Rest,” she said. “When you are done, wrap yourself in the linen and come to the fire. I have oil for your back and shoulders. And then you can sleep.”     

     At her departure, a strong stirring beneath the dark waters made Drake realize he would probably struggle with both the resting and the sleeping. The warm water had soothed his muscles, and with a full belly, he had begun to feel more than a little energized. Still, curiosity kept him from immediately calling Morwenna back and telling her he had changed his mind—that he was quite ready to retreat to her bedroom at any time of her choosing.

 

     When he approached the fire a few minutes later, gripping the linen about his hips with his hand placed strategically to camouflage his body’s anticipation, he realized that Morwenna had on one of his white shirts worn soft with repeated washings, with the sleeves rolled up; her hair unpinned, curling loose about her shoulders. She sat on the settle, with a short stool between her feet. He froze at the sight of her bare, creamy legs, calves curving up to the bend of her knees, her shapely thighs disappearing beneath the long tail of the shirt. His heart thudded in his ears. She gestured, and Drake sat down gingerly, folding his long legs to allow himself to fit between the stool and hearth.

     Morwenna had a decanter of oil beside her on the settle. Pouring a small quantity into one palm, she rubbed her hands together, then gently rested them warmly on Drake’s shoulders. The sigh he released was nearly a groan, which faded into an occasional gasp or heavy intake of breath as she dug her thumbs into the tight muscles of his shoulders and upper back.

     It was as lovely as she imagined, his skin. Warm and smooth, tanned from work in the sun. Because he was slender, exploring him was like an anatomy lesson. The hard, angular edges of his shoulder blades; the channel of his spine separating the two halves of his back, the ripples of his ribs. The jutting rise of his shoulders, and the tense strength of his biceps.

     Morwenna could tell from the sounds Drake made when her movements pleased him. He liked it when she pressed firmly, but then he also seemed to like it when she trailed her fingers lightly down his spine. He groaned especially loud when she pushed on the muscles of his lower back. He squirmed a little when her hands reached too far towards his sides, but he froze, erect, when she dipped her fingers under the edge of the linen to rub further down his back. He relaxed when she returned her attention to the rigid slope of his shoulders.

     As she massaged the back of his neck, Drake leaned his head from one side to the other, and Morwenna could hear the crackle of his spine. “Where is it sore?” she murmured.

     “To be honest,” he rumbled back huskily, “I feel much better. But I do have one particular ache that may please you.”

     Morwenna’s instant response was an involuntary shudder. Drake could feel her stiffen behind him, her legs jerking inwards, almost gripping his rib cage in reaction. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, swiveling his body toward her. “Did I say something to offend 'ee?”

     “No,” said Morwenna, breathlessly. “Your words...they roused me.” She seemed stunned. “My body quivered, almost as if you had touched me. ..See, feel my arm!”

     Drake caressed her forearm with the tips of his fingers. He could feel the innumerable pinpricks of her goosebumps, and chuckled in response. “Does that mean you want me?” He asked. There was a slight pause.

     “Yes,” she whispered.

     Drake glanced from left to right, as if assessing their surroundings. He reached beyond Morwenna and grasped one of the small cushions on the settle. Then, Drake rotated toward Morwenna, pushing the stool roughly off to one side, where it wobbled and fell over with a bang. He laid the pillow on the floor and knelt on it, bringing himself between Morwenna’s thighs. Then he wrapped his arms around her and in the process, released the linen which had been around his hips.

     Morwenna, who had been frozen in place as she watched him, put her arms over his slippery shoulders, dug her fingers into the curls at the back of his neck, and drew his mouth toward hers. After a few moments, she pulled away breathlessly, pupils wide. Her choice to wear his shirt brought her bare thighs in direct contact with his naked hips, and Drake realized that his body’s response was anything but subtle.

     “Can it be done as we are, here?” Morwenna asked, blushing.

     “My body clearly thinks so,” said Drake with an embarrassed smile. “But are ye ready? I haven’t touched ‘ee as much as I should, I think.”

      Morwenna furrowed her brow. “Is there a prescribed amount of time? Nay, I think you and I are the ones to determine what is right for us.” Gently, she slid her hips forward on the settee. Her eyes on him were trusting, but Drake quelled his aching need.

     “No one else tells us what we must do,” Drake agreed. “But what if I wish to serve ‘ee first?” he asked, his hand gently traveling up her inner thigh. “Will you let me?”

     She gasped her assent, her eyelids fluttering closed at his steady touch. She wouldn’t need much, she quickly realized. Grateful for his encircling arm behind her back, Morwenna felt as if she might faint from lightheadedness. As the intensity of sensation built, her eyes flew open, to see that Drake was watching her, a smile on his face.   

 

     Later they lay on the hearth rug, wrapped in the bath linen. Morwenna rested, looking up at Drake with her hand on his chest, her chin on the back of her hand.

     Drake had one hand behind his head, and looked down into her face curiously. “Sweet One,” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “Is it my imagination, or are you more ... I can think of no other word...are ye more alert now?”

     “You might describe it thus,” she said. “When I was married to Osborne, I had so much I didn’t wish to feel. I didn’t wish to feel pain, didn’t want to be afraid. I hated him, but had no power and no recourse, so I didn’t want to feel hatred either. I tried to smother those emotions. But the sad consequence was a general dulling effect everywhere. I didn’t feel fear, but neither did I experience excitement. I didn’t feel sadness, but neither did I feel joy.”

     Drake put his arm around her and pulled her to him. “Well, I’m glad to see a light in your eyes again.” 

     “It’s like the world was covered with ash,” Morwenna explained, her fingers gently tracing the few stray chest hairs that sprouted in the hollow at the base of his neck. “Marrying you brought the rain, and the earth is green again.”

     Drake blushed and held her close. His hand left her shoulder once for a fist to swipe over his eyes.

     “And this,” Morwenna added, “Our intimacy—is as if the trees are covered with blossoms and the flowers have all bloomed.”

     “Now ‘ee are just flattering me,” joked Drake. “Since ‘ee know where my skills lie, ye want to ensure that I’m your willing slave forever. Though, for all that. . .” he whispered conspiratorially, “There was never a question of being yours forever.”

     Morwenna chuckled, but could not disguise the vulnerability in her eyes. “It does make me afraid to want you,” she said. “Because you may not want me.”

     “Never,” said Dwight. “I’ll be a old man on my death bed and still want you. But I am single minded. I guess that’s why I could hold ‘ee in my heart and none other for so many years. But when I am overwhelmed or weary, my mind do struggle to handle the worries of my work and desire you at the same time.”

     Morwenna sighed, her eyes closing from a weariness of her own. Her fingers crept up to her cheek, and Drake could see that again, her emotions were overflowing, unbidden.

     “I never used to cry,” she said, almost apologetically, as Drake pulled her closer to him, his hands gently stroking her shoulders and back.

     Huskily he responded, “Just cry, Sweet One. I am here.” Her shoulders shuddered, but Morwenna realized faintly that there was more pleasure in this sweet pain than there had ever been during her entire marriage to Osbourne. 


End file.
